Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Sycamore Settles In

Episode Date: January 29, 2024

Our story tonight is called Sycamore Settles In, and it’s a story about the newest resident at the Inn on the Lake. It’s also about a sunny winter day, and neighbors spotted from the window, roses and cat nip, toy mice and freshly pressed curtains, and a growing bond between two friends getting each other through the winter. We give to a different charity each week, and this week, we are giving to The Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee, Providing home, herd, rest, refuge, and individualized care for life.  Subscribe for ad-free, bonus, and extra-long episodes now, as well as ad-free and early episodes of Stories from the Village of Nothing Much! Search for NMH Premium channel on Apple Podcasts or follow the link below: https://www.nothingmuchhappens.com/premium-subscription Listen to our new show, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, on your favorite podcast app. https://www.nothingmuchhappens.com/stories-from-the-villagePurchase 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. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to the Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee, providing home, herd, rest, refuge, and individualized care for life. Learn more through the link in our show notes.

I'd like to thank a few of our recent subscribers to our Premium Plus feed. So thank you, Miranda. Thank you, Daniel, Elliot, and Annie. Thank you. In the increasingly complex world of podcasting, you are helping us continue to do what we do. If you'd like to subscribe for ad-free and bonus episodes, follow the link in our show notes, or just search NMH Premium on Apple Podcasts. And if subscribing isn't in the cards for you,

please know I thank you too, just for being here and for taking care of yourself. Well done. Now, since every episode is someone's first, let me say a little about how this works. Your brain needs just the right amount and type of stimulation to help you drift off or return to sleep. We will give you a story that catches your attention, enough to create focus, but not so much that it keeps you up. And once we hit that sweet spot, you will sleep. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. All you need to do is listen, and know that this is a kind of conditioning. We're training your brain,

and for best results, we recommend that you use the podcast regularly for at least a couple of weeks. Most listeners tell us that by then, they drop off within minutes of pressing play. Our story tonight is called Sycamore Settles In, and it's a story about the newest resident at the inn on the lake. It's also about a sunny winter day, neighbors spotted from the window, roses and catnip toy mice and freshly pressed curtains and a growing bond between two friends getting each other through the winter

okay campers lights out it's time to snuggle down into your bed Okay, campers. Lights out. It's time to snuggle down into your bed and get as comfortable as you can. Maybe this is a moment you've waited all day for. Well, it's here now. Feel how good it is to be snug in bed, about to fall deeply asleep. I'll be here, watching over.

I'll guard you till you wake tomorrow. Draw a deep breath in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. Nice. One more. Breathe in, and out. Good. Sycamore settles in.

Sycamore and I surveyed the lake from our room high up on the third floor of the inn. After days of thick gray clouds, we finally had some sunshine, and we blinked into it, looking down at the iced-over lake. There are only a few houses on the lake, and on hazy, foggy days, I can't make them out,

even from up here. now in the bright light I looked at each one checking in on my neighbors the winters here could be long and slow paced and we all tended to hole up in our cozy spots I hoped they were looking back at us at the inn

now and then as well. There was a cottage that sat on a bit of land jutting out into the lake a ways. If I had to guess, I'd bet it was one of the first houses to be built here, made with thick log timbers and comprising just a couple rooms. But it had a tall stone chimney,

and I could see smoke drifting out through the pine trees around it. Their wood pile had diminished since I'd last looked, but it was still healthy, plenty to get through the next few months. Their flag was out, something I always looked for, as I knew they brought it in every evening. If a couple days passed without it, I'd call to see if all was well. Once, when I had, they had just been on a trip, but another time I'd found them both laid low with bad colds

and brought around groceries and a quart of chef's soup from the freezer. Further down the shore was a dark green house with a broad porch, still strung with Christmas lights. They had a big yellow dog, and I could see him chasing through the snowy yard, fetching a ball. I imagined how good it must feel to be him.

After a few icy dark days, not able to get out and play. And then today, with all this glorious sunshine and his person throwing a ball for him. Sycamore was watching him too, and I reached out and laid a hand on his silky back. He startled a bit and turned toward me, as if he'd gotten so involved with watching the neighbor's dog, he'd forgotten I was there. He turned back to the window,

but rounded his body into my palm, asking for more pets. I was new to cats. I'd babysat a few, but never had my own, and he'd only been mine for a few months. But Sycamore and I understood each other just fine. He was a little obsessed with me, to be honest, and the feeling was mutual. In this big, empty inn, he was with me all day and night. He followed me down to the kitchen for coffee in the morning.

He sat on my desk while I answered booking requests for the summer, and when I worked in the guest rooms or strolled through the long ballroom on the second floor, he was with me. He fell asleep each night, stretched out across the foot of my bed, but I often woke with him curled up against my chest, his head tucked under my chin.

He was the most beautiful black cat, and as he sat regally in a shaft of sunlight, I could see all the variations in his fur. There were flecks of brown, and a black so deep it looked purple. He almost shimmered. The pads of his paws were a soft pink, and depending on the light, his eyes could look gold or a light

green. Like I said, I was slightly obsessed. I scooped him up, and he flopped onto his back like a baby. Wherever he had been before he came to me, he felt completely safe now. He trusted me. And that honestly felt like an honor. It didn't mean he wanted a belly rub. I mean, he was still a cat. But he lay languidly in my arms as I stepped into my slippers and out into the hallway. This old house in the winter, well, it's just me and Sycamore, and it's so big, it can be a bit echoey. And while I never thought of it as lonely, I suddenly couldn't imagine it without my cat. We toured the whole house once a day. It was a good way to stay ahead of leaks in the roof, to remind myself of any chores that still needed doing before the spring. And with four floors and dozens of rooms, it was good exercise.

When Cy realized it was tour time, he jumped down from my arms. He liked to make a personal inspection of the halls and rooms we went through. And while he never strayed too far from me, he would stop here and there to sniff at a closet door or paw at the edge of a curtain. My room sat to the right of the staircase, with long corridors in each direction. We turned down one and started looking in on the rooms. For my own peace of mind, I left all the doors open when we had no guests, and that way we could just stroll along the halls and peer in here and there. I'd past. We would be open for Valentine's Day

weekend this year, and Sycamore had been very helpful as I'd been making up the beds. He loved it when I snapped the sheets open over the mattresses, tossed them out, and tucked them in neatly on the edges. After the third room, I'd had to close them out as I made up the bed, where the sheets would have been full of fur. And so he'd spent the whole day yowling at me, sticking his arms under all the closed doors. Now each room was guest-ready, clean, and in a few days, a shipment from the greenhouse outside of town would arrive, with roses for the bedside tables,

and a big arrangement for the entryway. We worked our way down to the second floor, which had one wing of rooms and the ballroom. We surveyed the rooms first, all in place, nothing of note. But as we got closer to the ballroom, Sycamore meowed, and I knew why. The big, empty room was perfect for play. He had a collection of tiny, cotton mice stuffed with catnip all over the floor in there,

and as I walked through, he dove past me and pounced. I chuckled and reminded myself to put away his toys before the guests showed up. This would be the first time since he'd moved in that the inn would be full. I guessed he'd prove a hospitable host, but imagined there might be a few hiccups as we all got into a rhythm. Chef was coming down for the weekend, and they were excited to meet Sycamore. I bet they'd make something delicious for him, and Cy would start following them around.

As he jumped down another of his toys, I turned and went to the window. The ice on the lake sparkled, and the few stubborn ducks who hadn't flown south were marching in a slow, wobbly line along its edge. Squirrels were racing along tree branches. And even though we were up here and all our neighbors were down there. I felt we were all connected by the sunshine today. Sycamore settles in. Sycamore and I surveyed the lake from our room. High up on the third floor at the inn. After days of thick gray clouds,

we finally had some sunshine. And we blinked into it, looking down at the iced over lake there are only a few houses on the lake and on hazy foggy days I can't make them out even from up here. Now, in the bright light, I looked at each one,

checking in on my neighbors. The winters here could be long and slow-paced, and we all tended to hole up in our cozy spots. I hoped they were looking back at us at the inn now and then as well. there was a cottage that sat on a bit of land jutting out into the lake aways. If I had to guess, I'd bet it was one of the first houses to be built here. Made with thick log timbers and comprising just a couple rooms. But it had a tall stone chimney, and I could see smoke drifting through the pine trees around it. Their woodpile had diminished since I'd last looked, but it was still healthy, plenty to get through the next few months.

Their flag was out, something I always looked for, as I knew they brought it in every evening. If a couple days passed without it, I'd call to see if all was well. Once, when I had done just that, they had been on a trip, but another time I'd found them both laid low with bad colds and brought around groceries and a quart of chef's soup from the freezer. Further down the shore was a dark green house with a broad porch still strung with Christmas lights.

They had a big yellow dog, and I could see him chasing through the snowy yard, fetching a ball. I imagined how good that must feel to be him after a few icy, dark days, not able to get out and play. And then today, with all this glorious sunshine, and his person throwing a ball for him. Sycamore was watching him too and I reached out and laid a hand on his silky back he startled a bit

and turned toward me as if he'd gotten so involved with watching the neighbor's dog he'd forgotten I was there. He turned back to the window, but rounded his body into my palm, asking for more pets. I was new to cats. I'd babysat a few, but never had my own. And he'd only been mine for a few months. But Sycamore and I understood each other just fine. He was a little obsessed with me, to be honest, and the feeling was mutual. In this big, empty inn, he was with me all day and night. He followed me down to the kitchen for coffee in the morning.

He sat on my desk while I answered booking requests for the summer and when I worked in the guest rooms or strolled through the long ballroom on the second floor, he was with me. He fell asleep each night, stretched out across the foot of my bed.

But I often woke with him curled up against my chest, his head tucked under my chin. He was the most beautiful black cat, and as he sat regally in a shaft of sunlight, I could see all the variations in his fur. There were flecks of brown and a black so deep it looked purple. He almost shimmered. The pads of his paws were a soft pink, and depending on the light, his eyes could look gold or a light green. Like I said, I was slightly obsessed. I scooped him up, and he flopped onto his back like a baby. Wherever he had been before, he came to me, he felt completely safe now. He trusted me,

and that honestly felt like an honor. That didn't mean he wanted a belly rub. I mean, he was still a cat. But he lay languidly in my arms as I stepped into my slippers and out into the hallway. This old house in the winter well it's just me and sycamore and it's so big

it can be a bit echoey and while I'd never thought of it as lonely I suddenly couldn't imagine it without my cat. We toured the whole house once a day. It was a good way to stay ahead of leaks in the roof, to remind myself of any chores that still needed doing before the spring. And with four floors and dozens of rooms that it was tour time, he jumped down from my arms. He liked to make a personal inspection of the halls and rooms we went through. And while he never strayed too far from me,

he would stop here and there to sniff at a closet door or paw at the edge of a curtain. My room sat to the right of the staircase with long corridors in each direction. We turned down one and started looking in on the rooms. For my own peace of mind

I left all the doors open when we had no guests and that way we could just stroll along the halls and peer in here and there I'd spent the last week or so and peer in here and there. I'd spent the last week or so pressing drapes and rehanging them, and I admired the clean lines as I walked past. We would be open for Valentine's Day weekend this year, and Sycamore had been very helpful as I'd been making up the beds. He loved it when I snapped the sheets open over the mattresses,

tossed them out, and tucked them in neatly on the edges. After the third room, I'd had to close him out as I made up the bed, or the sheets would have been full of fur, and so he'd spent the whole day yowling at me, sticking his arms under all the closed doors. Now, each room was guest-ready, clean, and in a few days, a shipment from the greenhouse outside of town would arrive with roses for the bed which had one wing of rooms and the ballroom. We surveyed the rooms first. All in place, nothing of note. But as we got closer to the ballroom, Sycamore meowed, and I knew why.

The big, empty room was perfect for play. He had a collection of tiny cotton mice stuffed with catnip all over the floor in there and as I walked through he dove past me and pounced I chuckled and reminded myself to put away his toys before the guests showed up. This would be the first time since he'd moved a hospitable host, but imagined there might be a few hiccups as we all got into a rhythm.

Chef was coming down for the weekend, and they were excited to meet Sycamore. I bet they'd make something delicious for him, and Psy would start following them around. As he jumped on another of his toys, I turned and went to the window. The ice on the lake sparkled, and the few stubborn ducks who hadn't flown south were marching in a slow, wobbly line along its edge. Squirrels were racing along tree branches.

And even though we were up here and all our neighbors were down there, I felt we were all connected by the sunshine today. Sweet dreams.