Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - The Back Stairs

Episode Date: April 22, 2024

Our story tonight is called The Back Stairs, and it’s a story about a bit of spring cleaning at the Inn by the lake. It’s also about the special features and details in old houses, clever engineer...ing, the honesty of patina and a space where imperfection is welcome. We give to a different charity each week, and this week, we are giving to World Central Kitchen provides meals in response to humanitarian, climate, and community crises. It builds resilient food systems with locally-led solutions.  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.Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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Starting point is 00:00:01 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 World Central Kitchen, providing meals in response to humanitarian, climate, and community crises.
Starting point is 00:00:48 Learn more about them in our show notes. Our goal is to be here for you throughout the day, throughout your life. When you need a soft landing into dreams. A way to get centered and practice useful techniques for equanimity. And when you need a trip to the village. Where kindness is commonplace. And small pleasures are enjoyed. So we have three shows for that, just three for now.
Starting point is 00:01:28 Who knows what we'll dream up next? To start your day with a 10-minute guided meditation, subscribe to First This for a livelier, immersive daytime version of our tales. Search for stories from the village of Nothing Much. And of course, let me tuck you in at bedtime, here on Nothing Much Happens. You can listen to everything for free,
Starting point is 00:02:00 right where you are listening now. Or support us by joining our premium channels. Learn more at nothingmuchappens.com or the links in our show notes. Now, the stories work by occupying just enough of your mind to keep it from wandering.
Starting point is 00:02:26 If we can find a point of soft focus, we have a clear path to sleep. All you need to do is listen. Just follow along with the sound of my voice. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake again in the night, turn it back on. You'll drop right back off again,
Starting point is 00:03:01 usually within seconds. And if you're new to this, know that this training will improve with use, so be patient. Give it time to work. Our story tonight is called The Backstairs, and it's a story about a bit of spring cleaning at the inn by the lake.
Starting point is 00:03:31 It's also about the special features and details of old houses. Clever engineering. The honesty of patina. And a space where imperfection is welcome. Now, lights out campers. Snuggle down and get as comfortable as you can. The day is done.
Starting point is 00:04:08 Whatever it was is what it was. And now we are here. I'll take the next watch so you can let everything relax. Draw a full, deep breath in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. Again, breathe in.
Starting point is 00:04:43 Let it out. Good. The back stairs. These old houses, especially the big ones, they have a lot of forgotten features that newer houses just don't come with anymore. Some are easy to see, like the back stairs, a less pretty but more functional set than the grand front staircase in the entryway, or the transom windows that have let light into the inner rooms since before the place was wired for electricity.
Starting point is 00:05:40 But some are less obvious, like the dumbwaiter that might be mistaken for a cupboard in the hall till you open its doors to find a tray of food sent up from the kitchen. And some are actually hidden in the walls, as the call-bell system was, which we'd only uncovered while mending some plumbing. We freed the chimes and replaced the wires, and now I can step on a button beside my desk to signal Chef down in the kitchen that guests are arriving or that the produce delivery truck
Starting point is 00:06:28 is trundling down the drive. If I was just a householder living here, I don't imagine I'd have too much call to ring the bells or to load the breakfast dishes into the dumbwaiter. But I am not just a householder. I am lucky.
Starting point is 00:06:56 I am an innkeeper. I look after my guests, and I look after this great old house. It wouldn't suit everyone, but it suits me perfectly. I look forward to the busy summer days when every room is filled, and I rise early to pour coffee for diners on the porch, in between handing out beach towels and welcoming new guests at the reception desk. In the off-season, when the inn is closed or has just a couple of rooms booked, I enjoy the quiet and rest.
Starting point is 00:07:47 I read books. I sit with my cat, Sycamore, and watch the ducks swimming on the lake. Besides the weekend of Valentine's, when we'd opened for a few days. When the whole second floor and most of the third had been full, we were still in rest and relaxation mode. But all of that was about to change. In a week, our regular season would begin. I was glad we weren't booked solid right at the start. May was an excellent month to come to the inn, but for many,
Starting point is 00:08:40 kids were still in school. The weather wasn't quite warm enough to swim and boat, and it just didn't feel like summer vacation yet. It was a chance for us to ease ourselves into our routines, for Chef to test out new recipes, for the vegetable garden to begin to grow, and for Sycamore to learn more about being a good host. He'd come to me in the late autumn of last year, so this would be his first summer as an innkeeper
Starting point is 00:09:25 an inn-catter, as it were. There was a chore I needed to take care of before our guests arrived. It had to do with some of those details of old houses I'd mentioned earlier, both the obvious and less obvious sort, in the same location. When guests came down the long gravel drive to the inn, they entered the big front doors and stepped into our entryway, a pretty paneled
Starting point is 00:10:09 space with a dramatic sweeping staircase that carried them and their luggage up to our guest rooms. But when they came back down, especially when they came down for breakfast or to head out to the lake, they came down the back stairs, which were less ornate, though still well-crafted, and which brought them to the back of the inn, where we served coffee and meals on a screened-in porch overlooking the water.
Starting point is 00:10:55 When the house was built, 20 years before the start of the 20th century, these stairs were most likely not used by the wealthy family that lived here. Maids, cooks, I imagine even a butler would have used them to carry tea trays and deliver messages, and probably to hide out and have a few moments to themselves. As someone who serves in this house, I care about these stairs and the people who had climbed them back then, as well as the ones who had climbed them back then, as well as the ones who did today.
Starting point is 00:11:56 So every spring, I spent an afternoon sweeping and dusting, polishing up the wood till it shone, and relaying the runner on carpet rails. Sycamore was helping, in a sense. He was keeping me company. He had one of his tiny stuffed mice in his mouth, and every once in a while he'd set it down in front of me, sit back on his rear legs and shadowbox with it.
Starting point is 00:12:34 He'd swing his paws in a mock fight until I caught on and I'd flick the mouse down the stairs. It tumbled to the next landing and he'd chase after it. A midnight black streak with green eyes. Once he caught it, he'd chew on it, bat it around, maybe even lay he'd chew on it, bat it around,
Starting point is 00:13:06 maybe even lay his head down on it and doze till I made my way with my polishing rag and broom down to where he was, and we'd go again. In the corner of each step was the other old house feature, the less obvious one. It was a small brass triangle that fitted right into the space where the bottom of the riser met the wall.
Starting point is 00:13:48 It was called a dust corner, and like you might have guessed, it kept dust out of the corner of the stair. If you've ever tried to work a broom into that space, you know how tricky it is to clean out. Well, the housekeepers of the past must have pointed that out to a clever inventor at some point. Because if you look closely, a lot of old houses have these. Since they were brass, they could be polished up to look absolutely brand new. And when we renovated the inn many years ago, that's what I did.
Starting point is 00:14:47 I'd replaced the missing ones and polished the old ones till they were indistinguishable. And they had been very pretty. But there was something about them that just didn't feel like they fit with the back stairs. A bit of patina. A less perfect shine seemed fitting for these stairs, where things were allowed to not be perfect. So I dusted and swept and warmed the wood railings with oil, but left the honest age as I went.
Starting point is 00:15:33 As I made my way to the bottom of the stairs, the end of my chore in sight, I heard Chef out on the porch. I stuck my head through the doorway and saw them setting down a platter of sandwiches on a table, along with some glasses and napkins. Go wash your hands and come eat, they called, and I gratefully pushed into the butler's pantry and turned on the sink. I heard the tinkle of Sycamore's bell as he went out to see what else Chef had made.
Starting point is 00:16:20 I pulled up my chair and looked out at the sun shimmering on the lake. I was so grateful for this old house and the ones who came to share it with me. The back stairs. These old houses, especially the big ones, they have a lot of forgotten features that newer houses just don't come with anymore.
Starting point is 00:17:02 Some are easy to see, like the back stairs, a less pretty but more functional set than the grand front staircase in the entryway, or the transom windows that have let light into the inner rooms since before the place was wired for electricity. But some are less obvious. like the dumbwaiter that might be mistaken for a cupboard in the hall till you open its doors to find a tray of food sent up from the kitchens. And some are actually hidden in the walls, as the call bell system was, and some are actually hidden in the walls, as the call bell system was, which we only uncovered while mending some plumbing.
Starting point is 00:18:23 We freed the chimes and replaced the wires, and now I can step on a button beside my desk to signal Chef down in the kitchen that guests are arriving or that the produce delivery truck is trundling down the drive. If I was just a householder living here, I don't imagine I'd have too much call to ring the bells or to load breakfast dishes into the dumbwaiter. But I am not just a householder.
Starting point is 00:19:11 I am lucky. I am an innkeeper. I look after my guests, and I look after this great old house. It wouldn't suit everyone, but it suits me perfectly. I look forward to the busy summer days when every room is filled, and I rise early to pour coffee for diners on the porch, in between handing out beach towels and welcoming new guests at the reception desk. In the off-season, when the inn is closed or has just a couple of rooms booked, I enjoy the quiet and rest.
Starting point is 00:20:14 I read books. I sit with my cat Sycamore and watch the ducks swimming on the lake. Besides the weekend of Valentine's, when we'd opened for a few days, and when the whole second floor and most of the third we were still in rest and relaxation mode but all of that was about to change in a week our regular season would begin I was glad we weren't booked solid right at the start. May was an excellent month to come to the inn, but for many, kids were still in school.
Starting point is 00:21:22 The weather wasn't quite warm enough to swim and boat and it just didn't feel like summer vacation yet it was a chance for us to ease ourselves into our routines for Chef to test out new recipes, for the vegetable garden to begin to grow, and for Sycamore to learn more
Starting point is 00:21:57 about being a good host. He'd come to me in the late autumn of last year, so this would be his first summer as an innkeeper, an incatter, as it were. And there was a chore I needed to take care of before our guests arrived. It had to do with some of those details of old houses I'd mentioned earlier, both the obvious and less obvious sort, though in the same location. When guests came down the long gravel drive to the inn, they entered the big front doors
Starting point is 00:23:02 and stepped into our entryway. A pretty paneled space with a dramatic sweeping staircase that carried them and their luggage up to our guest rooms. But when they came back down, especially when they came down for breakfast, or to head out to the lake, they came down the back stairs, which were less ornate, though still well-crafted, and which brought them to the back of the inn, where we served coffee and meals on a screened-in porch overlooking
Starting point is 00:23:58 the water. When the house was built, 20 years before the start of the 20th century, these stairs were most likely not used by the wealthy family that lived here. Maids, cooks, I imagine even a butler would have used them to carry tea trays and deliver messages. And probably to hide out
Starting point is 00:24:42 and have a few moments to themselves. As someone who serves in this house, I care about these stairs and the people who climbed them back then, as well as the ones who did today. So every spring, I spent an afternoon sweeping and dusting, polishing up the wood till it shone, and relaying the runner and carpet rails. Sycamore was helping, in a sense. He was keeping me company. He had one of his tiny stuffed mice in his mouth,
Starting point is 00:25:50 and every once in a while, he'd set it down in front of me, sit back on his rear legs and shadow box with it. He'd swing his paws in a mock fight until I caught on and I'd flick the mouse down the stairs. It tumbled to the next landing and he'd chase after it, a midnight black streak with green eyes. Once he caught it, he'd chew on it,
Starting point is 00:26:29 bat it around, maybe even lay his head down on it and doze till I made my way with my polishing rag and broom down to where he was, and we'd go again. In the corner of each step
Starting point is 00:26:54 was the other old house feature, the less obvious one. It was a small brass triangle that fitted right into the space where the bottom of the riser met the wall. It was called a dust corner, and like you might have guessed, it kept dust out of the corner of the stair. If you've ever tried to work a broom into that space, you know how tricky it is to clean out.
Starting point is 00:27:48 Well, the housekeepers of the past must have pointed that out to a clever inventor at some point. Because if you look closely, a lot of old houses have these. Since they were brass, they could be polished up to look absolutely brand new. And when we renovated the inn many years ago, that's what I did. I'd replaced the missing ones and polished the old ones till they were indistinguishable and they had been very pretty
Starting point is 00:28:35 but there was something about them that just didn't feel like they fit with the back stairs. A bit of patina. A less perfect shine seemed fitting for these stairs, where things were allowed to not be perfect. So I dusted and swept and warmed the wood railings with oil, but left the honest age as I went.
Starting point is 00:29:21 As I made my way to the bottom of the stairs, the end of my chore in sight, I heard Chef out on the porch. I stuck my head through the doorway and saw them setting down a platter of sandwiches on a table, along with some glasses and napkins. Go wash your hands and come eat, they called. And I gratefully pushed into the butler's pantry
Starting point is 00:30:06 and turned on the sink. I heard the tinkle of Sycamore's bell as he went out to see what else Chef had made. I pulled up my chair and looked out at the sun shimmering on the lake. I was so glad for this old house and the ones who came to share it with me. Sweet dreams.

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