Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Soap Bubbles and Sidewalks

Episode Date: March 23, 2026

Our story tonight is called Soap Bubbles and Sidewalks, and it’s a story about some spring cleaning done in the fresh air. It’s also about a curtain shifting near an open window, a hose and bucket, old CDs in the glovebox, clean that goes all the way into the corners, and the energy that returns when the spring does. Subscribe to our Premium channel. The first month is on us. 💙 It’s time to turn those “What Ifs” into “cha ching” with Shopify. Sign up for your one-dollar-per-month trial at shopify.com/nothingmuch OneSkin — Get 15% off with code NOTHINGMUCH at oneskin.co/NOTHINGMUCH We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to Frosted Faces Foundation. They deliver the promise of family and comprehensive veterinary care for senior pets whose love and lives are in jeopardy. Pre-order Kathryn’s new book here. ⁠⁠⁠⁠NMH Merch, Autographed Books and More!⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠Listen to our daytime show ⁠⁠⁠⁠Stories from the Village of Nothing Much⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Sit Meditation with Kathryn⁠⁠⁠⁠ ⁠⁠⁠⁠Pay it forward subscription⁠⁠⁠⁠  Follow us on ⁠⁠⁠⁠Instagram⁠⁠⁠⁠ Visit ⁠⁠⁠⁠Nothing Much Happens⁠⁠⁠⁠ for more Village fun! Join the Adventures of Marmie, Birdy, and Crumb with this Playlist! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get more, nothing much happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories, and ad-free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe now. If you already listen to me, then you know bedtime stories can be powerful tools for rest. But sometimes what you need isn't a story. Maybe it's something a little different. And that's where sleep magic comes in. Sleep magic is a sleep hypnosis.

podcast hosted by hypnotherapist Jessica Porter. Instead of storytelling, Jessica uses a hypnotic voice that gradually slows down, weaving in gentle suggestions to help your mind, let go. It's designed so that by the end, you're not just calmer, you're already asleep. And what's unique is that she doesn't only talk about sleep. Jessica threads in themes like dealing with heartbreak, easing anxiety, and building confidence. So the work you do while drifting off actually carries into your waking life. There are more than 300 episodes, and listeners call the show Life-Changing and a real gift. Over 5 million people have tuned in, and I can see why. So if you're curious to try a different approach, one that complements what you already get here.

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Sign up for your $1 per month trial today at Shopify.com slash nothing much. Go to Shopify.com slash nothing much. That's Shopify.com slash nothing much. Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on nothing much happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to Frosted Faces Foundation. They deliver the promise of family and comprehensive veterinary care

for senior pets whose love and lives are in jeopardy. Learn more about them in our show notes. There's a lot happening behind the scenes at NMH headquarters right now, a new book, an app, more ways to feel connected and calmed. And if you want to stay in the loop, join our newsletter. You'll even get a little note straight from me with each one. That and our premium subscription can all be found at nothingmuchappens.com. Now, just by listening to a soft story at the end of the day, We can do more than help you sleep.

We can help you regulate your nervous system and make doing so a reliable part of your wind down each night. All you need to do is listen. The rest will happen automatically. I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake later in the night, just press play again. Our story tonight is called soap bubbles and sidewalks,

and it's a story about some spring cleaning done in the fresh air. It's also about a curtain shifting near an open window, a hose and a bucket, old CDs in the glove box, clean that goes all the way into the corner, and the energy that returns when spring does. I'm very selective about skin care, especially anything that promises big results. I want it to feel good on my skin,

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For a limited time, try OneSkin with 15% off using code Nothing Much at OneSkin.co slash nothing much. That's 15% off OneSkin.com with code Nothing Much. After you purchase, they'll ask where you heard about them. please support our show and tell them that we sent you. So switch off your light. Put down anything you've been looking at or working on. You have looked at a screen for the last time today. Let it sink in that you are in bed

and that there is nothing left to do but rest. Draw a deep breath in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. One more time, in and out. Soap bubbles and sidewalks. When I was a kid, and spring cleaning came around, I'm sure I'd moaned and groaned, dragged my feet on my way to clean out the lost toys

and stuffed animals from under my bed, the urgency to deep clean, to get all the way into the corners, and reset the house to zero. Wasn't mine, it was my parents. As a kid, cleaning served only to take me away from something else I wanted to do. And besides, seemed pointless. The clutter would return anyway. now that I am the grown-up in the equation,

I understand the urgency. The way a house can become noisy with its need to be tended to. How satisfying, clearing out the old, and resetting a space can be, and how eager one can become. After a few months, without being able to really do the job properly.

The winter had been long and cold. And to me, a house never feels clean until it is flooded with fresh air. And if at all possible, sunshine. This weekend had already proven to be immensely rewarding and productive. The snow had melted away completely. completely. And the days were warm enough to open the doors and windows, at least for a few hours. I'd cleaned out drawers and washed all the bedding, which had dried on the line, and come in smelling of fresh spring air.

The fridge had been wiped down and cleared out of expired condiments. The shelves reorganized and tidy. windows were washed, floors mopped, bookshelves dusted. I'd even finally driven over to the charity shop and dropped off the bags of clothes and household bits. I'd been meaning to donate for months. They'd been rolling around in my back seat since a snowstorm had shut us indoors for a few days just after the new year.

Every weekend I'd meant to drop them off, but forgotten. And now I finally had. When I pulled back into the driveway, the house sparkled in the sunlight, all those clean windows, almost winking at me in the bright light. I'd opened all of them on the second floor,

and I could see the thin cotton curtains of my bedroom, twisting and floating in the breeze. I took deep breaths, knowing that the whole house would feel reinvigorated by the time I closed them up tonight. Now that my inside work was done, and the fresh air so sweet. I decided to spend the rest of the afternoon outdoors,

and with my back seat empty, I knew which chore to turn to next. I clicked the button on my visor and watched as the garage door rolled slowly up into place. I would connect the hose, fill a bucket with soapy water, and give the car its first bath of the spring. I might even get out the vacuum

and properly clean the mats and footwells. Suddenly excited by the plan, in a way my childhood self would have been flabbergasted by. I rooted through the garage, looking for everything I would need. I found one of those giant sponges that are so fun to squeeze out a half-full bottle of dish soap and some clean rags to dry with. When I hooked up the hose and twisted on the nozzle, I got lost for a few minutes,

rinsing the front walkway, watching the rivulets of water, cutting paths through the dust, and dirt left behind. when the snow melted. The scent of hose water. That minerally rubber smell made me smile. Remembering playing with the hose on hot days when we were little. Wet sidewalks and wearing your swimsuit at 9 a.m. on a.m. because why not? I squeezed a good bit of soap into my bucket. and filled it with water from the hose. And before I plunged the sponge in for the first time, decided to be smart and tug off my sweatshirt.

Even in early spring, the air, which had felt cool at first, was warming up. One would probably have me sweating. After a few minutes of work, then lather, rinse, repeat, for a while. I leaned in close to admire the shimmering colors in the soap bubbles. I knew it had something to do with the way the light hit the outer film of a bubble, that it overlapped with the light

bouncing off its inside wall, creating interference. Then as the film slid and wobbled, the bubble became thicker in some spots and thinner in others and all of that created a tiny polychromatic lather on the passenger door that appeared

and disappeared depending on the direction I swept my sponge layers of dirt and street salt came away and I laughed thinking that I'd nearly forgotten what color my car was under all of that.

I pulled out the floor mats and laid them in the driveway to hose them off. When the water ran clear, I draped them over the porch railings to let them drip dry. In the glove box, I found a couple CDs, which I'd been moving from car to car for the last 20 years. This car didn't even have a CD player, but it didn't feel right to drive around without them. They were mixes made by an old friend, and I sat in the passenger seat for a few minutes,

reading through the songs. Thinking about the summer, we'd driven up north for a few hours, then back again, just to have something to do, These had played the whole way. In the seat pockets, I found a pair of mittens, or rather two mittens that weren't a pair, but could team up in a moment of need. Common law mittens, I supposed.

Under the driver's seat, I found a hair clip I'd been looking for for ages, and from what I could tell, every lip balm I'd ever owned. I cleaned out receipts and coffee sleeves, dusted and wiped the dash, and even remembered to put the first-aid kit my uncle had sent all of us cousins for Christmas into the trunk.

Across the street, my neighbors were raking dead leaves out from under their hedgerow. A lawnmower started in a backyard. Kids yelled the rules of a game from the end of the block. After months of nearly everything being slowed down are made just a little more difficult by the short days and the continuous cold, the ease of warm weather was returning,

and tonight I would sleep in a clean house on fresh sheets, soap bubbles and sidewalks. When I was a kid, and spring cleaning came around. I'm sure I'd moaned and groaned, dragged my feet on my way to clean out the lost toys and stuffed animals from under my bed.

After all, the urgency to deep clean to get all the way into the corners and reset the house to zero wasn't mine. It was my parents. As a kid, cleaning served only to take me away from something else I wanted to do. And besides, seemed pointless.

The clutter would reach. return anyway. Now that I am the grown-up, in the situation, I understand the urgency, the way a house can become noisy with its need to be tended to. How satisfying, clearing out the old, and resetting a space can be, and how eager one can become after a few months without being able to really do the job properly. The winter had been long and cold, and to me, a house never feels clean until it is flooded with fresh air, and, if at all possible, sunshine. This weekend had already proven to be immensely rewarding and productive.

The snow had melted completely, and the days were warm enough to open the doors and windows, at least for a few hours. I'd cleaned out drawers and washed all the bedding, which had dried on the line, and come in, smelling of spring air. The fridge had been wiped down and cleared out of expired condiments, the shelves, reorganized, and tidy. windows were washed, floors mopped, bookshelves dusted, right even finally, driven over to the charity shop, and dropped off the bags of clothes, and household bits.

I'd been meaning to donate for months. They'd been rolling around. in my backseat, since a snowstorm, had shut us indoors. For a few days just after the New Year, every weekend I'd meant to drop them off, but forgotten. And now, I'd finally done it. When I pulled back into the driveway, the house sparkled. in the sunlight, all those clean windows, almost winking at me in the bright light, I'd opened all of them on the second floor, and I could see the thin cotton curtains of my

bedroom, twisting and floating in the breeze. I took deep breaths, knowing that the whole whole house would feel reinvigorated by the time I closed them up tonight. Now that my inside work was done and the fresh air, so sweet, I decided to spend the rest of the afternoon outdoors. and now with my back seat empty, I knew just which chore to turn to next. I clicked the button on my visor and watched as the garage door slowly rolled up into place.

I would connect the hose, fill a bucket with soapy water, and give the car its first bath of the spring. I might even get the vacuum out and properly clean the mats and footwells. Suddenly excited by the plan, in a way my childhood self would have been flabbergasted by.

I rooted through the garage, Looking for everything I would need, I found one of those giant sponges that are so fun to squeeze out a half-full bottle of dish soap and some clean rags to dry with. When I hooked up the hose and twisted the nozzle on, I got lost for a few minutes, rinsing the front walkway,

watching the rivulets of water, cutting paths through the dust, and dirt left behind. When the snow melted, the scent of hose water, that minerally rubber smell, made me smile, remembering, playing with the hose,

on hot days when we were little, wet sidewalks, and wearing your swimsuit at 9 a.m. on a.m. on a Tuesday, because why not? I squeezed a good bit of soap into my bucket and filled it with water from the hose. And before I plunged the sponge in, for the first time, decided to be smart and tug off my sweatshirt, even in early spring air, which had felt cool at first. The sun was warming me up and would probably have me sweating after a few minutes of work.

Then, lather, rinse, repeat for a while. leaned in close to admire the shimmering colors and the soap bubbles. I knew it had something to do with the way the light hit the outer film of a bubble, that it overlapped with the light bouncing off the inside wall, creating interference. Then as the film slid and wobbled, it became thicker in some spots and thinner in others. And all of that created a tiny polychromatic lather

on the passenger door that appeared and disappeared. Depending on the direction, I swept my sponge. Layers of dirt and street salt came away, and I laughed, thinking that I'd nearly forgotten what color my car was. Under all of that, I pulled out the floor mats and laid them in the driveway to hose them off when the water ran clear. I draped them over the porch railings and let them drip dry in the glove box. I found a couple old CDs, which I'd been moving from car to car.

for the last 20 years. This car didn't even have a CD player, but it didn't feel right to drive around without them. They were mixes made by a friend, and I sat in the passenger seat for a few minutes, reading through the songs, thinking about the summer we'd dream, driven up north for a few hours, and then back again, just to have something to do.

These had played the whole way. In the seat pockets, I found a pair of mittens, or rather, two mittens that weren't a pair, but could team up in a moment of need. common law mittens, I supposed. Under the driver's seat, I found a hair clip I'd been looking for for ages, and from what I could tell

every lip balm I'd ever owned. I cleaned out receipts and coffee sleeves dusted and wiped the dash and even remembered to put the first aid kit my uncle had sent to all of us cousins for Christmas into the trunk.

Across the street my neighbors were raking dead leaves out from under their hedgerow a lawn mower started in a backyard, kids yelled the rules of a game from the end of the block. After months of nearly everything, being slowed down or made just a little more difficult by the short days and the constant cold, the ease of warm weather was returning, and tonight. I would sleep in a clean house

on fresh sheets, sweet dreams.