Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - The Big Day

Episode Date: September 25, 2023

Our story tonight is called The Big Day, and it’s a story about a ceremony held beside the lake on a soft September day. It’s also about piano music drifting through the air, champagne corks popping, catching ahold of moments as they pass, both big and small, and the whole village of Nothing Much coming together to celebrate love. We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to The International Committee of the Red Cross. They are on the ground in Libya, responding to urgent humanitarian needs. https://www.icrc.org/en/donate  For more Nothing Much, including bonus episodes, you can find everything atwww.nothingmuchhappens.com Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to a very special episode of Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which, look, I'm going to be honest, some stuff is going to happen. But I think you'll still feel good, and I bet you're still going to fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nicolai. I create the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim and with guest voice, the lovely Eric Ireland from the Listen to Sleep podcast.

We give to a different charity each week, and this week we are giving to the International Committee of the Red Cross. They are on the ground in Libya, responding to urgent humanitarian needs, and we have a link to them in our show notes. For more Nothing Much, including bonus episodes, you'll find everything at nothingmuchappens.com. Now, the stories I've been telling you for the last several weeks lead up to this one, to the big day. And if that feels a bit too exciting for you, put this aside to listen to

on a walk. I've actually got a classic snooze guaranteed episode waiting for you in your queue right now if you need it. It's called fall foraging, and nobody gets married in it, so it will knock you out. And this is five years of experience talking, but I have a pretty strong feeling that even if you are excited to come to the wedding tonight, I'm still going to make you fall asleep. I bet most of you will need weeks of listening to hear this whole story. So choose your sleepy adventure, and let's get comfortable. This story is twice as long as most others, but as always, I'll read it twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through.

If you wake again in the night, don't hesitate to turn it right back on, and you'll fall right back to sleep. Now, lights out, my dears. Get your pillows in the right spot, your body as comfortable as it can be. I'm going to take you somewhere somewhere soft and sweet and enjoyable. And hear me when I say this. You deserve that. To enjoy, to relax, to feel safe. Let's take a deep breath in through the nose and sigh through the mouth. One more. Breathe in. And out. Good. Our story tonight is called The Big Day, and it's a story about a ceremony held beside the lake on a soft September day. It's also about piano music drifting through the air, champagne corks popping, catching a hold of moments as they pass, both big and small, and the

whole village of nothing much coming together to celebrate love. The Big Day Just as I was arranging the flowers on the back porch. The clouds cleared, and a bright blue sky emerged. I'd had one eye on the weather all day, though I'd had it on good authority that it would be clear and beautiful, and now it was. A perfect early fall day.

Not too hot, thank goodness, for a wedding. I'd seen guests before, sweltering in their finery, attempting to genteely fan themselves with wedding programs in the midsummer sticky air, while muttering under their breath about why anyone would get married during the dog days. I smiled to myself as I finished fussing with the already perfect flowers and stepped back into the inn, thinking of the dog days for a wedding,

because although we weren't celebrating in the heat of the summer, there were more than a couple dogs involved in today's festivities. I thought, in fact, that I had better go check on everyone and see how things were proceeding. We were minutes from our first guests arriving. I took off my apron and hung it in the butler's pantry before hurrying down the long hall and to the grand staircase in the entryway. As I went, I found myself checking each space I passed through,

that everything was tidy and polished, yet inviting. I could smell the good wood polish and proudly noted how brightly the windows shone after they'd been washed. Up the stairs and down a long hallway I went, till I came to the door behind which the groom and his friends were getting ready. Nervous, excited energy was seeping out from under the door I tapped quietly and heard a call to enter oh, you look fantastic

I said to the three of them they wore matching bow ties and stood tall for inspection. I went down the line, carefully adjusting the pocket square in the groom's jacket, plucking a bit of fluff off his best man's shoulder, and squatting down in front of Birdie the greyhound to straighten his tie. You have your best man, I said, pointing to the groom's friend. And I looked down at Bird.

Oh, best hound, said the groom happily. I smiled and pointed to a bell hung with a wire attached to its clapper above the door. I'll ring it's all going to go perfectly. And even if it doesn't, as long as you end up married by the end of the day, we'll have done it. They cracked a smile, and Bird yawned, and I left them to their pacing. From there, I passed by the ballroom, where we'd be dancing and lifting champagne glasses in an hour or so, and had to come back for one more quick look around. The room was grand, draped with flowers woven into garlands. The stage set up for a four-piece jazz band, and the corners and window seats heaped with stacked pumpkins. It looked like a fairy tale,

which was just what we'd hoped for. I allowed myself one quick twirl, and then ducked out, and took the stairs again, this time up to the third floor, down an opposite corridor, and to another door. I tapped again, was back in den,

and found the bride, a friend, two cats, and another dog. Again, I said, Oh, you look fantastic and again I meant it dressed prettily they were ready the humans and the animals

I know he has a best hound so you have and let my voice rise in a question. The bride, seated at a vanity, smiled at me through the mirror and said, a marmalade of honor. Her orange cat sat licking her paw on the bed beside a snagged and ruined veil, which had apparently been meant to be part of the cat's outfit, but had been roundly rejected. Crum, the scruffy brown dog,

had a bowtie matching Birdie's and sat proudly at my feet, ready to be patted and complimented. Beside Marmalade on the bed was another kitty, gray with bright yellow eyes. She lay peacefully on her mom's lap, getting her ears rubbed. This was Cinder, and her mother, a good friend of the bride,

had her long hair braided with ribbons and hanging elegantly down her back. As the bride turned back to her mirror, I whispered to her friend, Lovely weather for the day, isn't it? She winked back at me and agreed. I again pointed to the bell, said it would be any minute now that I would ring as soon as the guests were settled. I hurried down the stairs, glad that, while I was in my dress

and ready, I was in my dress and ready I was still wearing the practical flats I usually wore around the inn. I'd left my fancy shoes in the butler's pantry to slip into just before time to head down to the ceremony by the lake. I traced my way back through the hall and down more steps to find Chef in the kitchen, surrounded by trays of appetizers with a list and marker in their hands.

They looked up at me, lips still moving as they recited the order of events for the afternoon. Cocktail hour by the lake, they muttered, and gestured to each of the platters in turn. Crispy Brussels sprout and caper crostini, mushroom rosemary tarts, chili maple popcorn, honey crisp, and thyme boulevlevards Yes, chef, I said They shushed me And turned to the ovens Then here for dinner Pumpkin soup with toasted hazelnuts

Fresh bread and fattoush, harissa-roasted carrots, couscous, and portobello steaks. As Chef recited, they lifted lids from giant copper pots on the stove and cracked the oven to peek inside. Finally, they stood tall, let out a breath, and smiled at me. And then just cake.

And we both gathered around the gorgeous, three-tiered delight they had made with the town baker. It was done with simple white frosting and a trail of real ruby-red maple leaves, sugared and shimmering as if coated with raindrops. It circled up through the tears and finished on top with a sugar-crafted heart. It was perfect, beautiful, and of the season, simple and romantic. We'd had the dumbwaiter repaired last winter, and had already done a few dry runs. Not with the cake yet, but with bags of dried chickpeas and rice to approximate the weight. And it all went up to the second floor smoothly. I patted Chef on the back.

Well done. Now take off your apron and get ready. I'm about to ring the bells. They nodded, and I left them washing their hands at the huge kitchen sink and went back up the stairs. I slipped into the pantry and switched my shoes, and then stepped back out onto the porch and looked down to the lake. The white benches set up at the edge of the water were nearly full now, and I spotted a few designated helpers, close friends or family members,

guiding folks around through the side gardens and to their seats. On the dock, I could just make out the officiant, a man with a bright white beard and a book in his hands. I waited till it seemed that all our guests were with us, and then ducked into the front office. This old place had a system of bells, originally meant to alert servants to call for a pot of tea in the drawing room or a breakfast tray for one of the many bedrooms. When we'd uncovered it in our renovations,

I'd been determined to bring it back to life, mostly because I wanted to hear the bells ringing. Now it was primarily used by me and Chef to scare each other on autumn nights. I found the button for the groom's room and pressed it, feeling the vibration moving through the wire. A minute or two later, I heard them descending the stairs, nervous smiles and Birdie keeping close to his dad's side. What a good boy. I waited till they had made it down the back lawn

and to their spots on the deck, where I had thought ahead and placed one of Bird's big dog beds. Indeed, he pressed his forehead into his dad's leg for a moment, and then flopped happily down into it. Even from the porch, I could hear the murmur of chuckles among the guests. Back in the office, I pressed the button for the bride's room and went to meet them at the foot of the stairs.

The bride was lovely, her dress simple and classic, and I felt my eyes brimming in pure happiness for their whole family. I thought marmalade might require some wrangling. But the bride's friend bent down and whispered something to her, and both cats lined up like ducklings and followed the women out. Crumb was a bit less focused, and I took his lead in hand. It had taken some doing, but we'd moved the old upright piano from the library, down the back steps, and out onto the stone patio. The woman who gave piano lessons sat at the bench, her fingers poised on the keys.

One of her young students, a boy whose eyes were laser-focused on the music, ready to turn the page for his teacher, ready to play his part in their duet, sat beside her. As the bride descended from the porch, it had to be you began to play from the piano. I wasn't meant to be part of the bridal party, but now that I had become Crumb's escort, I felt I had to follow along. As we passed through the smiling guests, I spotted

the baker sitting next to chef, the woman who owned the bookshop with her dog, Alphabet, at her feet. At the end of the aisle, I recognized the woman who bought the old house on the edge of town, where I picked lilacs. The folks from Weathervane Farm were there, and in front of them, two men in matching jackets, with their sons, and a golden retriever who I'd met on a walk. Clover was her name, and beside them a woman who reached down and patted the dog gently. The mail carrier with an older gentleman beside her, and in front of them the man who'd helped me find a book at the library. Smiling from the second row were a couple I'd seen at the big house with the labyrinth. Across from them were the folks who hosted the big Friendsgiving party in downtown, and the man who owned the antique store.

It seemed the whole village was here, all of us shining our light right at the two on the dock, that we might help to fill their cups with familial love and support on this special day. As the bride took her spot and smiled across at her love, Marmalade stopped and sat regally at her feet. Cinder and her person stood a step behind, mirroring the groomsman. Bertie did not get up.

Crumb zoomed, overloaded with all the excited energy he felt around him. And for a minute, I let go of his leash and let him circle the officiant and race from one edge of the dock to the other. I was about to catch him up again when the officiant leaned down to him and said, Why don't you sit here with me, Crumb? and pointed to a patch of sun at his feet. At once Crumb came. He sat and thumped his tail against the wood planks, but soon settled, and I found a seat in the second row. We all turned to the officiant,

a man I didn't know well, grandfather of the bride. But his calm, steady presence had the same effect on me that it had on Crumb, and I found myself drawing a deep breath in and letting it out. Weddings are big moments, aren't they?

Moments we remember all our lives. And our lives only come with a few big moments. Those very special ones. When you fall in love. When a baby is born. Or a kitten found on a doorstep. Here he looked down at Marmalade. And we all smiled indulgently, thinking of the story.

When a dream comes true, or a big ambition is achieved, and I want to encourage you, all of you, to feel the goodness of those big moments, the awe and excitement of them. But I also want to encourage you not to miss the small ones. Most of our lives are lived in small moments. Most of your love... And here he turned first to the bride then to the groom

will be made up of small everyday moments. And often those little experiences handing her a cup of coffee on a chill morning walking with the dogs in the afternoon listening to his breath change as he falls asleep.

They are some of the most intimate moments of togetherness. As he spoke, I thought of the small moments that made up my own life. Ringing the bell to let Chef know the first guests were sitting down for breakfast. The feel of a heavy room key in my pocket as I walked the halls, the smell of the old wicker furniture on the sleeping porch. It seemed good advice, if most of life was small, to revel then in smallness. The vows were exchanged. A few sniffles heard from the crowd.

The older gentleman beside the mail carrier blowing his nose like a foghorn, the old romantic. The officiant ended the ceremony with one more suggestion, this by way of the wise Persian poet Rumi, whose words, written 800 years before, felt just as pertinent as any of today. Sincerely speak to each other, saying,

My dear, how can I be more loving to you? How can I be more kind? We cheered as they kissed. Champagne corks popped, and the piano began to play something nostalgic and sweet. Now we would eat and dance and make memories, big and small. The Big Day Just as I was arranging the flowers on the back porch, the clouds cleared and a bright blue sky emerged.

I'd had one eye on the weather all day, though I'd had it on good authority that it would be clear and beautiful, and now it was. A perfect early fall day, not too hot, thank goodness, for a wedding. I'd seen guests before, sweltering in their finery, attempting to genteely fan themselves with wedding programs

in the midsummer sticky air while muttering under their breath about why anyone would get married during the dog days. I smiled to myself as I finished fussing with the already perfect flowers and stepped back into the inn, thinking of the dog days for a wedding, because although we weren't celebrating in the heat of the summer, there were more than a couple dogs involved in today's festivities. I thought, in fact, that I had better go check on everyone and see how things were proceeding. We were minutes from our first guests arriving. I took off my apron and hung it in the butler's pantry. Before hurrying down the long hall and to the grand staircase in the entryway.

As I went, I found myself checking each space I passed through, that everything was tidy and polished, yet inviting. I could smell the good wood polish and proudly noted how brightly the windows shone after they'd been washed. Up the stairs and down a long hallway I went, till I came to the door behind which the groom and his friends were getting ready. Nervous, excited energy was seeping out from under the door. I tapped quietly and heard a call to enter.

Oh, you look fantastic, I said to the three of them. They wore matching bow ties and stood tall for inspection. I went down the line, carefully adjusting squatting down in front of Birdie, the greyhound, to straighten his tie. Best man, I said, pointing to the groom's friend, and I looked down at Bertie. Best hound, said the groom happily. I smiled and pointed to a bell,

hung with a wire attached to its clapper above the door. I'll ring when it's time to come down, okay? Should just be a few minutes. There was speechless nodding, and I said, it's all going to go perfectly. And even if it doesn't, as long as you end up married by the end of the day, we'll have done it. They cracked a smile, and Bird yawned, and I left them to their pacing. From there, I passed by the ballroom, where we'd be dancing and lifting champagne glasses in an hour or so, and had to come back for one more quick look around.

The room was grand, draped with flowers woven into garlands. The stage set up for a four-piece jazz band, and the corners and window seats heaped with stacked pumpkins. It looked like a fairy tale, which was just what we'd hoped. I allowed myself one quick twirl, then ducked out and took the stairs again. This time up to the third floor, down an opposite corridor, and to another door. I tapped, again was beckoned in, and found the bride, a friend, two cats, and another dog.

Again, I said, you look fantastic. And again, I meant it. Dressed prettily. They were ready, the humans and the animals. I know he has a best hound, so through the mirror and said, A marmalade of honor. Her orange cat sat licking her paw on the bed, beside a snagged and ruined veil which had apparently been meant to be part of the cat's outfit, but had been roundly rejected.

Crumb, the scruffy brown dog, had a bowtie matching Birdie's, and sat proudly at my feet, ready to be patted and complimented. Beside Marmalade on the bed was another kitty, gray with bright yellow eyes. She lay peacefully on her mom's lap, getting her ears rubbed. This was Cinder, and her mother, a good friend of the bride, had her long hair braided with ribbons and hanging elegantly down her back. As the bride turned back to her mirror, I whispered to her friend, Lovely weather for the day, isn't it? She winked back at me and agreed. I again pointed to the bell, said it would be any minute now, that I would ring as soon as the guests were I hurried down the stairs

glad that while I was in my dress and ready I was still wearing the practical flats I usually wore around the inn I'd left my fancy shoes

in the butler's pantry to slip into just before time to head down to the ceremony by the lake. I traced my way back through the hall and down more steps to find Chef in the kitchen, surrounded by trays of appetizers, with a list and marker in their hands. They looked up at me, lips still moving, as they recited the order of events for the afternoon. Cocktail hour by the lake, they muttered,

and gestured to each of the platters in turn. Crispy Brussels sprouts and caper crostini, mushroom rosemary tarts, chili maple popcorn, honey crisp and thyme boulevards. Yes, chef, I said. They shushed me and turned to the ovens. Then here for dinner, pumpkin soup with toasted hazelnuts, fresh bread and fattoush, harissa-roasted carrots, couscous, and portobello steaks. As Chef recited, they lifted lids from giant copper pots on the stove and cracked the oven to peek inside.

Finally, they stood tall, let out a breath, and smiled at me. And then just cake, and we both gathered around the gorgeous three-tiered delight they had made with the town baker. It was done with a simple white frosting and a trail of real ruby-red maple leaves, sugared and shimmering as if coated with tiny raindrops, that circled up through the tears and finished on top with a sugar-crafted heart. It was perfect, beautiful, and of the season, simple and romantic.

We'd had the dumbwaiter repaired last winter and had already done a few dry runs, not with the cake itself, but with bags of dried chickpeas and rice to approximate the weight, and it all went up to the second floor smoothly. I patted Chef on the back. Well done. Now take off your apron and get ready. I'm about to ring the bells.

They nodded, and I left them, washing their hands at the huge kitchen sink, and went back up the stairs. I slipped into the pantry and switched my shoes, and then stepped back out onto the porch and looked down to the lake. The white benches set up at the edge of the water were nearly full now, and I spotted a few designated helpers, close friends or family members, guiding folks around through the side gardens and to their seats. On the dock I could just make out the officiant

a man with a bright white beard and a book in his hands. I waited till it seemed that all our guests were with us and then ducked into the front office. This old place had a system of bells originally meant to alert servants to call for a pot of tea in the drawing room

or a breakfast tray for one of the many bedrooms. When we'd uncovered it in our renovations, I'd been determined to bring it back to life, mostly because I wanted to hear the bells ringing. Now it was primarily used by me and Chef to scare each other on autumn nights. I found the button for the groom's room and pressed it, feeling the vibration moving through the wire.

A minute or two later, I heard them descending the stairs, nervous smiles and Birdie keeping close to his dad's side. What a good boy. I waited till they made it down the back lawn and to their spots on the dock, where I had thought ahead and placed one of Bird's big dog beds. Indeed, he pressed his forehead into his dad's leg for a moment, and then flopped happily down into it. Even from the porch, I could hear the murmur of chuckles among the guests.

Back in the office, I pressed the button for the bride's room and went to meet them at the foot of the stairs. The bride was lovely, her dress simple and classic, and I felt my eyes brimming in pure happiness for their whole family. I thought marmalade might require some wrangling, but the bride's friend bent down and whispered something to her, and both cats lined up like ducklings and followed the women out. Crumb was a bit less focused, and I took his lead in hand. It had taken some doing, but we'd moved the old, upright piano from the library down the

back steps and out onto the stone patio. The woman who gave piano lessons sat at the bench, her fingers poised on the keys. One of her young students, a boy whose eyes were laser-focused on the music, ready to turn the page for his teacher, ready to play his part in their duet, sat beside her. As the bride descended from the porch, it had to be you, began to play from the piano. I wasn't meant to be part of the bridal party, but now that I had become Crumb's escort, I felt I had to follow along.

As we passed through the smiling guests, I spotted the baker sitting next to Chef, the woman who owned the bookshop with her dog, Alphabet, at her feet. At the end of the aisle, I recognized the woman who'd bought that old house on the edge of town where I picked lilacs. The folks from Weathervane Farm were there, and in the row in front of them, two men in matching jackets, with their sons, and a golden retriever, who I'd met on a walk. Clover was her name, and beside them a woman who reached down and patted the dog gently. The mail carrier, with an older gentleman beside her, and in front of them the man who'd helped me find a book at the library. Smiling from the second row were a couple I'd seen at the big house with the labyrinth.

Across from them were the folks who hosted the big Friendsgiving party in downtown, and the man who owned the antique store. It seemed the whole village was here, all of us shining our light right at the two on the dock, that we might help to fill their cups with familial love and support on this special day. As the bride took her spot and smiled across at her love, Marmalade stopped and sat regally at her feet. Cinder and her person stood a step behind,

mirroring the groomsman. Bertie did not get up. Crumb zoomed, overloaded with all the excited energy he felt around him. And for a minute, I let go of his leash and let him circle the officiant and race from one edge of the dock to the other. I was about to catch him again when the officiant leaned down to him and said,

Why don't you sit here with me, Crumb? and pointed to a patch of sun at his feet. At once, Crumb came. He sat and thumped his tail against the wood planks, but soon settled, and I found a seat in the second row. We all turned to the officiant, a man I didn't know well, the grandfather of the bride. But his calm, steady presence

had the same effect on me that it had on Crumb. And I found myself drawing a deep breath in and letting it out. Weddings are big moments, aren't they? Moments we remember all our lives. And our lives only come with a few big moments. Those very special ones.

When you fall in love. When a baby is born. Or a kitten found on a doorstep. Here he looked down at Marmalade, and And I want to encourage you, all of you, to feel the goodness of those big moments, the awe and excitement of them. But I also want to encourage you not to miss the small ones. Most of our lives are lived in small moments. Most of your love... and here he turned first to the bride

and then the groom will be made up of small everyday moments. And often those little experiences handing her a cup of coffee on a chill morning And often, those little experiences, handing her a cup of coffee on a chill morning,

walking with the dogs in the afternoon, listening to his breath change as he falls asleep. They are some of the most intimate moments of togetherness. As he spoke, I thought of the small moments that made up my own life.

Ringing the bell to let Chef know the first guests were sitting down for breakfast, the feel of a heavy room key in my pocket as I walked the halls, the smell of the old wicker furniture on the sleeping porch. It seemed good advice, if most of life was small, to revel then in smallness. The vows were exchanged. A few sniffles heard from the crowd. The older gentleman beside the mail carrier,

blowing his nose like a foghorn, the old romantic. The officiant ended the ceremony with one more suggestion. This by way of the wise Persian poet Rumi, whose words, written 800 years before, felt just as pertinent as any of today. Sincerely speak to each other, saying, my dear, how can I be more loving to you?

How can I be more kind? We cheered as they kissed. Champagne corks popped. And the piano began to play something nostalgic and sweet. Now we would eat and dance and make memories, big and small. Sweet dreams.