Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Summer Vacation

Episode Date: June 26, 2018

Our story tonight is called "Summer Vacation" and it’s a story about the feeling of freedom and having lots of time ahead of you to do what you like. It’s also about planning sweet things with someone special, the fresh harvest of the late summer, and enjoying the sights along the way. So get cozy and ready to sleep. This episode mentions alcohol. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Grown-Ups, in which nothing much happens, you feel good, and then you fall asleep. All stories are written and read by me, Katherine Nicolai, with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim. I have so many stories to tell you about walks through apple orchards and breathing crisp autumn air and roasting pumpkin seeds. Stories about Thanksgiving leftovers and watching the snow fall

and twinkle lights by the fire. If you enjoy our stories, please share them any way you can, with anyone you know who likes relaxation and good sleep. And follow us on Facebook and Instagram for some extra coziness. Now let me say a bit about how to use this podcast. I'm about to tell you a bedtime story. And the story is like a soft landing spot for your mind. Rather than letting your brain race through the same thoughts that you've been chasing all day, we are taking a detour to a calm and cozy place. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a bit slower the second time through. If you find that you are still awake

at the end of the second telling, not to worry. That's just fine. Just walk yourself back through any of the details you remember. And before you know it, you'll be waking up tomorrow feeling relaxed and refreshed.

This is a kind of brain training, and the more you do it, the faster you will fall asleep. So be patient if you are new to this. Now, it's time to turn off the light. Take one last sip of water and snuggle down into your favorite sleeping position. Get your pillow in the perfect spot and take a slow, deep breath in through your nose and out through your mouth. Nice.

Do that one more time. Breathe in, and out. Good. Our story tonight is called Summer Vacation, and it's a story about the feeling of freedom and having lots of time ahead of you to do what you like. It's also about planning sweet things with someone special,

the fresh harvest of late summer, and enjoying the sights along the way. We rolled the windows down and stuck our arms out into the sunshine. We had a whole week of vacation ahead of us, a whole week by the water, in a little rented cottage with a porch swing and a big soft bed. We were looking forward to good meals, sleeping late, laziness, and the beach. We'd gotten up early, excited to start, but then remembering that we were on vacation and didn't need to rush. We'd laid in bed and sipped our coffees and made plans for a week of doing whatever we

wanted. Finally, in the mid-morning, we'd loaded our beach chairs and coolers into the car and started out. The weather was fair, with bright blue skies and temperatures in the low 80s. We found some music to sing along to, and I, in the passenger seat, leaned back and watched the scenery roll by. We took back roads, mostly. It took a little longer, but it was prettier, and we were in no hurry. We passed through little downtowns,

nosily looked into the store windows, and made up stories about the people in line at the bakery or stepping out of the post office. We drove past farms, the crops high in the summer sun, and saw old red barns crumbling and falling over in the fields. They looked like shipwrecks in the pristine pastures, and I wondered what they had looked like when they were first built and who the people were who had built them. We pointed out horses running in a paddock,

cows grazing on the top of a hill, and cranes balancing on their stick-thin legs in ponds and marshes. We stopped in a familiar diner for lunch. I think we'd been here the year before. We ate sandwiches and looked out of the windows at the cars going by, then ordered pieces of pie and more coffee

and finally got back on the road. We were getting closer now and caught glimpses of water through the trees. We eagerly leaned our heads out of the windows and took deep breaths and turned to each other to say, can you smell the lake? There was a farm market on a corner, and we pulled in to see what was fresh. We'd packed some food for the week, but mostly just things like coffee beans and veggie burgers and a shocking amount of licorice.

We knew that the local fruit and vegetables would be better than the supermarket fare, so now we stocked up. We bought baskets of fresh tomatoes and a dozen ears of corn. They had ripe peaches that you could smell as soon as you got out of the car, red potatoes that were still dusty from the field, and a giant cabbage as big around as a cannonball. We bought cucumbers for salads, and asparagus for the grill, and ripe cantaloupe and strawberries

for snacks. They had fresh herbs bundled and tied with twine, rosemary, basil, thyme, chives, and a nosegay of lavender, which I added to my basket just because it smelled good. They had a few loaves of home-baked bread, and jars of jams and salsas. There was a whole table of pickled things, and my mouth watered as I stood in front of it reading labels. Crunchy dill pickles, sweet bread-and-butter pickles, and spicy pickled cauliflower and okra. They had sacks of roasted nuts and toasted sunflower seeds. We bought a lot and gossiped with the owner for a while. Then we were back in the car,

and after a day of lazy boondoggling, we were suddenly anxious to get to our little cottage. The gravel crackled under our tires as we pulled into the drive, and we left everything behind us in the car and rushed to see the view. Catching each other's hands, we stood by the lake for a while, just smelling the fresh water and listening to the birds calling to each other. We strolled around the yard, noticing the flowers and the hostas, whose wide-ridged leaves still held dew from the night before.

I spotted a patch of black-eyed Susans, and planned to come out later with the kitchen scissors to make a bouquet for our bedside. There were a couple old bikes, with dusty seats but but full tires leaned up against a shed. We found the key under a flower pot and unlocked the door. The place was small and sweet, and we opened the windows and let the fresh air in. We poked around, moving from room to room. There was a stack of puzzles and board games, and a few decks of weathered cards.

There were funny old pictures on the walls, and the cupboards held a varied collection of mismatched cups and plates from fifty-plus years of meals. We loved it. The bags came in, the coolers were emptied into the fridge, and the peaches were tipped into an old chip bowl on the table. What now? Whatever we like.

A cold beer? A mystery novel? There's a hammock under that tree. It looks big enough for two. Let's do that. We rolled the windows down and stuck our arms out into the sunshine. We had a whole week of vacation ahead of us. A whole week by the water in a little rented cottage with a porch swing and a big soft bed.

We were looking forward to good meals, sleeping late, laziness, and the beach. We'd gotten up early, excited to start, but then remembering that we were on vacation and didn't need to rush, we'd laid in bed and sipped our coffees

and made plans for a week of doing whatever we wanted. Finally, in the mid-morning, we'd loaded our beach chairs and coolers into the car and started out. The weather was fair, with bright blue skies and temperatures in the low 80s. We found some music to sing along to, and I, in the passenger seat, leaned back and watched the scenery roll by. We took back roads, mostly. It took a little longer, but it was prettier, and we were in no hurry. We passed through little downtowns,

nosily looked into the store windows, and made up stories about the people in line at the bakery, or stepping out of the post office. We drove past farms, the crops high in the summer sun, and saw old red barns, crumbling and falling over in the fields. They looked like shipwrecks in the pristine pastures, and I wondered what they had looked like when they were first built, and who the people were who had built them.

We pointed out horses running in a paddock, cows grazing on the top of a hill, and cranes balancing on their stick-thin legs in ponds and marshes. We stopped in a familiar diner for lunch. I think we'd been here the year before. We ate sandwiches and looked out of the windows, the cars going by, then ordered pieces of pie and more coffee, and finally got back on the road. We were getting closer now and caught glimpses of water through the trees. We eagerly leaned our heads out of the windows and took deep breaths

and turned to each other to say, Can you smell the lake? There was a farm market on a corner and we pulled in to see what was fresh. We'd packed some food for the week, but mostly just things like coffee beans and veggie burgers, and a shocking amount of licorice. We knew that the local fruit and vegetables would be better than the supermarket fare, so we stocked up.

We bought baskets of fresh tomatoes and a dozen ears of corn. They had ripe peaches that you could smell as soon as you got out of the car, red potatoes that were still dusty from the field. And a giant cabbage, as big around as a cannonball. We bought cucumbers for salads, and asparagus for the grill, and ripe cantaloupes and strawberries for snacks. They had fresh herbs, bundled and tied with twine,

rosemary, basil, thyme, chives, and a nosegay of lavender, which I added to my basket, just because it smelled so good. They had a few loaves of home-baked bread and jars of jams and salsas. There was a whole table of pickled things, and my mouth watered as I stood in front of it reading labels. Crunchy dill pickles, sweet bread and butter pickles, and spicy pickled cauliflower and okra. They had sacks of roasted nuts and toasted sunflower seeds. We bought a lot and gossiped with the owner for a while

Then we were back in the car And after a day of lazy boondoggling We were suddenly anxious to get to our little cottage The gravel crackled under our tires As we pulled into the drive, and we left everything behind us in the car and rushed to see the view. Catching each other's hands, we stood by the lake for a while, just smelling the fresh water and listening to the birds calling to each other.

We strolled around the yard, noticing the flowers and the hostas whose wide, ridged leaves still held dew from the night before. I spotted a patch of black-eyed Susans and planned to come out later with the kitchen scissors to make a bouquet for our bedside. There were a couple old bikes with dusty seats but full tires leaned up against a shed. We found the key under a flower pot and unlocked the door. The place was small and sweet, and we opened the windows and let the fresh air in. We poked around, moving from room to room.

There was a stack of puzzles and board games. And a few decks of weathered cards. There were funny old pictures on the walls, and the cupboards held a varied collection of mismatched cups and plates from fifty-plus years of meals. We loved it. The bags came in, the coolers were emptied into the fridge, and the peaches were tipped into an old chipped bowl on the table. What now? Whatever we like.

A cold beer? A mystery novel? There's a hammock under that tree. It looks big enough for two. Let's do that. Sweet dreams.