Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Something New

Episode Date: September 4, 2023

Our story tonight is called Something New and it’s a story about stumbling upon abeautiful place on a late summer bike ride. It’s also about lily pads, an X marked on amap and the joy of watching a friend step into a new season of their life.We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to the FruitTree Planting Foundation, Working to alleviate world hunger, combat climate change,strengthen communities, and improve the surrounding air, soil, and water.https://www.ftpf.org If you need more Nothing Much, you can wake up with out ten minute meditationpodcast called First This, it is free, ad-free and available on all podcast apps. We also justreleased a really sweet bonus episode over on our Premium Plus feed, you can become asubscriber at www.nothingmuchhappens.com. Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Katherine Nicolai. I read and write all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to the Fruit Tree Planting Foundation, working to alleviate hunger, combat climate change, strengthen communities, and improve the surrounding air, soil, and water. We have a link to them in our show notes. If you need more nothing much, you can wake up with our 10-minute meditation podcast called

First This. It's free, it's ad-free, and it's available on all podcast apps. Just search First This. We also just released a really sweet bonus episode over on our Premium Plus feed, and you can become a subscriber at nothingmuchappens.com. Now, here's how this works. Just by listening to the story I have to tell you, we'll catch that busy part of your brain that likes to keep you up, and we'll give it a job to do. When it's occupied, you're able to sleep. It really is that simple. But it may take a bit of practice for this to become automatic.

So have patience if you're new to it. I'll read the story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through. If you wake again in the night, don't hesitate to turn it right back on. You'll be out again in moments. It's time. Set everything down. Turn out your light. Get as comfortable as you can.

And feel the soft sheets against your skin. Notice your shoulders and your jaw relaxing, everything getting heavy and sleepy. I'll be here. I'll take the next watch. So you can really let go of everything. Take a deep breath in through your nose. And sigh out through the mouth. Nice. Let's do it one more time. Breathe in.

And out. Good. Our story tonight is called Something New, and it's a story about stumbling upon a beautiful place on a late summer bike ride. It's also about lily pads, an X marked on a map, and the joy of watching a friend step into a new season of their life. Something new. Though the summer was winding down, the bicycle shop was still busy. We had our now annual autumn rides planned and our customers were coming in to get tune-ups

and have their tires patched or replaced in my opinion some of the best riding of the year lay ahead of us in the months between the heat of summer and the first snow. I'd been riding every day. Well, I always bike into work as long as it's not bucketing down rain.

And on the way back home, I often go out of my way, just to ride through neighborhoods and out into the country a bit. Time on a bike always feels like time well spent. I find I do some of my best thinking while pedaling. There's something about my body being engaged, the steady rhythm of my legs that translates to a clear, calm head. If I go too many days without it, I start to feel like a computer with too many windows open. Lately, I'd been riding through a part of town I'd not explored much before. At the end of a long road, which I guess I thought was a dead end, but was in fact a curve, the pavement turned to gravel and it circled around a small lake. The first time I'd followed the curve and seen the view,

I'd stopped my bike, dropping one foot onto the gravel and leaning into my handlebars. I was just a little out of breath and reached for my water bottle and took a long sip. There were a few docks stretched out into the lake, and along the far side were tall pine trees and a scattering of houses. I slid my bottle back into its holder and started to bike around the lake. Most of the road was shaded by the large old trees, and there was a bit of breeze coming off the water. I could smell pine and something sweet, maybe lilies or freesia.

Beside one of the docks, I spotted an egret, so elegant-seeming, with his long neck extended as he picked his way through the shallow water. The trip around the lake had only taken a few minutes, and I found, on the far side of it, several narrow roads to continue my exploration. I was debating adding the route to our next community bike ride. But for now, it felt like my secret, and I wanted to keep it.

I thought of the grassy lots I'd seen where a picnic blanket could be spread, the shallow spots where lily pads flourished and croaking frogs lived. It was romantic. That was the word I'd been looking for, It was romantic. That was the word I'd been looking for. The spot I'd found was romantic. Then I realized I should share my secret bike route, but not with my community riders. Instead, it could be part of a gift. There was a wedding coming up, just a couple weeks away now, and I'd been working on my gift for the couple in my workshop.

I'd known them both for a while, but had first met the groom a few years before, when I'd stopped my bike at a dog park. He'd been there with his greyhound, Birdie, trying to get him to chase a ball. I'd watched from my bike, chuckling under my breath as he threw the ball again and again, going himself to retrieve it, as his dog lay in a cool patch of grass, watching disinterestedly. Eventually, he spotted me laughing, and laughed himself, coming up to the fence and shrugging his shoulders. I don't think he wants to play ball, he said. Nope, I agreed.

We started talking, and he told me Birdie was a rescue, and had likely run as much as he ever wanted to, so would probably spend the rest of his days lounging away. I asked if I could say hi to him, and he waved me into the fenced area. I've always had a love for greyhounds, and getting to pet birds' soft grey ears and scratch his chest had made my day. I don't remember when or how, but we'd bumped into each other again a little while later. Maybe at the bakery or the bookshop.

We'd become friends. We'd gone to the big Friendsgiving party in town together. We'd found a few others to make up a trivia team, and one enough enough that our names were still up on the blackboard at the pub. Cookouts, movies, me fixing his rickety old bike whenever it broke down, him telling me about a friend who'd found a little orange kitten and how Bluebird and he had been visiting them. Then that she'd adopted a little dog called Crumb. The name had made me laugh. I started to notice how he talked about her, how much he talked about her. And I wondered if he could hear the smile in his voice whenever he said her name.

I could. Sometimes it takes us a while to see what our friends can see so easily when he'd stopped by the shop and asked if I could help him move a few things well, actually, everything, I'd laughed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. We'd had a congratulatory cup of coffee in my workshop, and I'd let

him go on about her for as long as he liked. By then, she'd been coming to trivia night for a few weeks and was the strongest player we had, better than than either of us. It was a joy to watch my friend fall in love. And while it was slightly less joyful to help him haul his sofa up her porch steps, I'd been there for that, too. And now I'd be standing up with him in the wedding. And between getting my suit fitted and my shoes polished, I'd been building two new bikes for them in the shop. They'd need something

new for their wedding, and I was tired of tribute to their first beloved pets. I'd added a brown basket to hers so that Crum would also be represented and even gotten them a little pet trailer that could attach to the back of either bike, in case Marmalade the cat ever wanted to go for a ride, which I frankly doubted, having met her. She liked being the queen up on her perch and seemed to prefer to watch the world go by from her window at home.

The bikes were nearly ready, shiny and assembled in the workshop, and had been waiting for a final touch which now I had. I drew a map to the romantic spot by the lake I'd discovered. It took a few attempts. I'd gotten out my ruler

and colored pencils and marked it with an X I rolled it into a scroll and tied it with a ribbon to his handlebars now their first date night was sorted. Something new. Though the summer was winding down, the bicycle shop was still busy.

We had our now annual autumn rides planned, and our customers were coming in to get tune-ups and have their tires patched or replaced. In my opinion, some of the best riding of the year lay ahead of us in the months between the heat of summer and the first snow. I'd been riding every day. Well, I always bike into work,

as long as it's not bucketing down rain. And on the way back home, I often go out of my way just to ride through neighborhoods and out into the country a bit. Time on a bike always feels like time well spent. I find I do some of my best thinking

while pedaling. There's something about my body being engaged, the steady rhythm of my legs. It translates to a calm, clear head. If I go too many days without it, I start to feel like a computer with too many windows open. Lately, I'd been riding through a part of town

I'd not explored much before. At the end of a long road, which I guess I'd thought was a dead end, but was in fact a curve. The pavement turned to gravel and circled around a small lake. The first time I'd followed the curve and seen the view, I'd stopped my bike, dropping one foot onto the gravel and leaning into my handlebars. I was just a little out of breath and reached for my water bottle and took a long sip.

There were a few docks stretched out into the lake, and along the far side were tall pine trees and a scattering of houses. I slid my bottle back into its holder and started to bike around the lake. Most of the road was shaded by the large old trees, and there was a bit of breeze coming off the water.

I could smell pine and something sweet, maybe lilies or freesia. Beside one of the docks, I spotted an egret, so elegant-seeming, with his long neck extended as he picked his way through the shallow water. The trip around the lake had only taken a few minutes, and I found on the far side of it several narrow roads to continue my exploration. I debated

adding the route to our next community bike ride, but for now it felt like my secret, and I wanted to keep it. I thought of the grassy lots I'd seen, where a picnic blanket could be spread, the shallow spots where lily pads flourished and croaking frogs lived. It was romantic. That was the word I'd been looking for. The spot I'd found was romantic. That was when I realized I should share my secret bike route, but not with my community riders.

Instead, it could be part of a gift. There was a wedding coming up. Just a couple weeks away now. And I'd been working on my gift for the couple in my workshop. I'd known them both for a while, but had first met the groom a few years before, when I'd stopped my bike at a dog park. He'd been there with his greyhound, Birdie, trying to get him to chase a ball. I'd watched from my bike, chuckling under my breath as he threw the ball again and again, going himself to retrieve it, as his dog lay in a cool patch of grass, watching disinterestedly.

Eventually he spotted me laughing, and laughed himself, coming up to the fence and shrugging his shoulders. I don't think he wants to play ball, he said. Nope, I agreed. We started talking, and he told me Birdie was a rescue and had likely run as much as he ever wanted to, so would probably spend the rest of his days lounging away. I asked if I could say hi to Birdie, and he waved me into the fenced area. I've always had a love for greyhounds.

I'm getting to pet Bird's soft grey ears and scratch his chest. It had made my day. I don't remember when or how, but we'd bumped into each other again a little while later. Maybe at the bakery or the bookshop, and we'd become friends. We'd gone to the big Friendsgiving party in town together. We'd found a few others to make up a trivia team, and one enough that our names were still up on the blackboard at the pub. Cookouts, movies, me fixing his rickety old bike whenever it broke down, him telling me about a friend who'd found a little orange kitten and how he and Bluebird had been visiting them. Then, that she'd adopted a little dog called Crumb,

the name had made me laugh. I started to notice how he talked about her, how much he talked about her. And I wondered if he could hear the smile in his voice whenever he said her name. I I could. Sometimes it takes us a while to see what our friends can see so easily. When he'd stopped by the shop and asked if I could help him move a few things, well, actually, everything. I'd laughed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. We'd had a congratulatory cup of coffee in my workshop,

and I'd let him go on about her for as long as he liked. By then, she'd been coming to trivia night for a few weeks, and was the strongest player we had, better than either of us. It It was a joy to watch my friend fall in love. And while it was slightly less joyful to help him haul his sofa up her porch steps, I'd been there for that too. And now, I'd be standing up with him in the wedding and between getting my suit fitted and my shoes polished

I'd been building two new bikes for them in the shop they'd need something new for their wedding, and I was tired of putting his old bike back together. They were matching cruisers, his gray and hers orange, in tribute to their first beloved pets. I'd added a brown basket to hers so that Crum would also be represented, and even gotten them a little pet trailer that attached to the back of either bike in case Marmalade the cat ever wanted to go for a ride, which I frankly doubted having met her. She liked being the queen, up on her perch,

and seemed to prefer to watch the world go by from her window at home. The bikes were nearly ready, shiny and assembled in the workshop, and had just been waiting for a final touch, which now I had. I drew a map to the romantic spot by the lake. It took a few attempts. I'd gotten out my ruler and colored pencils and marked it with an X. I rolled it into a scroll

and tied it with a ribbon to his handlebars. Their first date night was sorted. Sweet dreams.