Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - The Lilac Booth, Part 2

Episode Date: May 5, 2025

Our story tonight is called The Lilac Booth, Part Two, and it’s a story about a lovely spring day at the farmer’s market and the sweet smell of a favorite flower. It is also about street food and sunshine, memories pulled forward by a breath of perfume, crumpled dollar bills, and the kind of beauty that can sit on your windowsill. Subscribe to our ⁠Premium channel.⁠ The first month is on us. 💙 We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to The Humane League. Helping animals live better lives. AquaTru water purifier: Click here and get 20% OFF with code NOTHINGMUCH. Beam Dream Powder: Click here for up to 40% off with code NOTHINGMUCH. BIOptimizers’ Sleep Breakthrough: Click here and use code NOTHINGMUCH for 10% off any order! Cornbread Hemp’s CBD gummies: Click here to save 30% on their first order! Cymbiotika products: Click here for 20% off and free shipping! Moonbird, the world’s first handheld breathing coach: Click here and save 20%! NMH merch, autographed books and more! Pay it forward subscription Listen to our daytime show Stories from the Village of Nothing Much on your favorite podcast app. Join us tomorrow morning for a meditation

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nicolai. I write and read all of the stories you'll 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 Humane League, helping animals live better lives. You can learn more about them in our show notes.

In the ever-evolving podcast world, the absolute best way to ensure these stories keep landing gently in your ears, if that's important to you, is to become a premium subscriber. It costs about ten cents a day. And I've been trying to think of things that you can get for one thin dime. Maybe a single shoelace from a thrift bin, or a gumball if you can still find a machine. But not much else. It's small, but it matters so much. Plus you'll get access to our entire ad-free catalog. Dozens of bonuses and extra long episodes and new content every month. If you're interested, just follow the links in our show notes or head straight over to NothingMuchHappens.com. I have a tried and true method for sending you off to sleep.

and true method for sending you off to sleep. A way to engage your mind just enough to shepherd it into a quiet pasture without giving it the zoomies. It uses the ancient technology of storytelling and all you need to do is listen. Follow the sound of my voice and know that this is a form of brain training. If you're new to it, keep coming back. Regular use will improve your response. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to turn a story back on. Our story tonight is called The Lilac Booth, Part Two, and it's a story about a lovely spring day at the farmers' market and the sweet smell of a favorite flower. It's also about street food and sunshine, memories pulled forward by a breath of perfume, crumpled dollar bills, and the kind of beauty

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Okay, lights out. Set everything down, the stuff in your hands and the stuff on your mind. Set it down. It's okay too. I'll take the next watch. Let your body relax into the sheets and feel how good it is to be done with today. Draw a deep breath in through your nose.

And sigh. Again, fill it up and let it go. Good. The Lilac Booth, Part 2. The Lilac Booth, Part 2. The market was just starting to get busy. And we were ready. I took one more look around to assure myself of that. Yeah, we were ready.

I'd been up early, before the dew had dried on the grass or the chill had left the air, to clip buckets and buckets full of lilac stems for today. Me and my small crew of volunteers had snipped for more than an hour, but still hadn't emptied the bushes that grew all over the patch of land surrounding farmhouse. I was glad for that. There were still more sweet-smelling, mostly purple blooms for the folks that stopped to pick them in the next week or so, before they were gone another year. I say mostly purple because since I'd become the steward of the lilacs, I'd planted many new varieties, including yellow and rose-red ones. We had bright blue and pale pink and stark white flowers. They all carried the signature scent of lilac, which is a deep sweetness, like a jasmine dipped in honey, slightly powdery, and with just a bit of green and citrus. The van ride on our way to the market had been so fragrant,

I could still smell the flowers on my skin and sweatshirt. still smell the flowers on my skin and sweatshirt. We'd buckled all the pails into the cargo space, settled in around the boxes of donated vases, and slowly and carefully bumped our way into town. The market is a long, low building on the edge of downtown. Half of it is an open airspace, banks of wooden stalls with spaces behind them, where sellers could pull up and unload their wares. The other half was enclosed, a long, wide hall with cracked green tiles on the floor and vendors on either side. Small tables were also set up here and there, tucked in beside the entrance, and a few running down the sidewalk for smaller, home-run businesses and makers. There was a coffee cart in the parking lot,

an ice cream truck at the curb, and a few pop-up stands selling empanadas and onigiri and flavored iced teas. A woman with a guitar was busking by the row of benches in the sun. We'd been able to get one of the outdoor spots for today, and I was glad about it. The air had warmed a good bit, since I'd been picking flowers in the early morning. And everyone who passed by looked to be enjoying it. It was like watching a battery charge or a time lapse video of a plant after it's been

watered. Faces spread with smiles. People took deep breaths and shrugged out of their sweaters and tied them around their waist. They lifted their faces to the light, and weight seemed to lift from their shoulders. I liked looking out at them as I arranged lilacs into vases. We thought about just wrapping the bouquets in newspaper, tying them with ribbon, but we guessed many of the flowers sold would be gifted.

Unhanding someone a bouquet that needs to be recut and arranged is a bit like gifting someone a chore. In our vases, they would be ready to set on any table or windowsill, just as they were. And once I put the word out that I was looking for donated vases, lots of folks turned out to have way more than we could use. So we hadn't needed to spend a cent to upgrade our blooms for our customers. We'd prepared a few dozen vases and set them out in rows and bunches in our booth. My helpers were ready with change in their aprons, and soon we had our first customers. People who were drawn by the scent.

You could see their faces change as they breathed in the scent, the way they were transported instantly to some other time and place by the perfume. Many told us of the lilac tree they'd had in their backyard growing up, or how it was their aunt's favorite flower. How those memories had come rushing back with one breath of this scent. It was something I'd heard so many times and knew myself to be true. By midday we were down to our last three buckets of blooms, and I was putting together vases of them as fast as I could. We told customers about my farmhouse in the country, surrounded by lilac bushes in every direction. How I'd been a lilac thief, but was now reformed. How the money we were raising today would help the monarch habitat

cross from the elementary school. A few people had been to the farm before, had seen the signs encouraging them to stop and take home a few stems. But there were plenty who had never smelled a lilac, and I hoped we were creating a memory for them that they could return to many times. I swapped jobs with an hour to go, and let someone else handle bundling the stems. I wrapped one of the aprons around me, noticing that we had indeed raised a good bit of cash already. that we had indeed raised a good bit of cash already. As I walked around to the front of the booth to appreciate this little dream that I had brought to life, I noticed a little girl, ten or eleven, digging in her pockets for crumpled up dollar bills. She was counting them out and looking at the vases,

trying to decide if she had enough for the big one in the center of the table. for the big one in the center of the table. I called out to the volunteer behind the booth that since it was almost the end of the day, we should put everything on sale for half off. She looked down at the little girl and nodded at me with a wink. Good call, boss, she said. The girl handed over her dollars and walked out with the largest vase we had. Her arms had barely wrapped around it and her face poked through the stems. I knew she might have bought them to gift to a parent or grandparent,

but I sort of hoped they were all for her. That she would set them on her bedside table, and that the perfume of them would work its way into her dreams as she slept. A life like my own, the life of a lilac thief. But I thought the world needed more of us, more people, driven by a love for beautiful things. The Lilac Booth, Part 2. The market was just starting to get busy. And we were ready. I took one more look around to assure myself of that. Yeah, we were ready. I'd been up early before the dew had dried on the grass, or the chill had left the air, to clip buckets and buckets full of lilac stems for today. Me and my small crew of volunteers had snipped for more than an hour, but still hadn't emptied

the bushes that grew all over the patch of land surrounding my old farmhouse. I was glad for that. There were still more sweet-smelling, before they were gone for another year. I say mostly purple because, since I'd become the steward of the lilacs, the steward of the lilacs. I'd planted many new varieties, including yellow and rose-red ones. We had bright blue and pale pink and stark white flowers. They all carried the signature scent of lilac, which was a like a jasmine dipped in honey, slightly powdery,

and with just a bit of green and citrus. The van ride on our way to the market had been so fragrant. to the market had been so fragrant. I could still smell the flowers on my skin and sweatshirt. We'd buckled all the pails into our cargo space, settled in around the boxes of donated vases, and slowly and carefully bumped our way into town. The market is a long, low building on the edge of downtown. Half of it is an open air space. Banks of wooden stalls with spaces behind them halls with spaces behind them where sellers could pull up and unload their wares. The other half was enclosed, a long wide hall with cracked green tiles on the floor and vendors on either side. Small tables were

also set up here and there, tucked in beside the entrance, and a few running down the sidewalk for smaller, home-run businesses and makers. was a coffee cart in the parking lot, an ice cream truck at the curb, and a few pop-up stands selling empanadas and onigiri and flavored iced teas. A woman with a guitar was busking by the row of benches in the sun. We'd been able to get one of the outdoor spots for today when I was glad about it. The air had warmed a good bit since I'd been picking flowers in the early morning. And everyone who passed by looked to be enjoying it. It was like watching a battery charge or a time lapse video of a plant after it's been watered. Faces spread with smiles.

People took deep breaths and shrugged out of their sweaters and tied them around their waists. They lifted their faces to the light and weight seemed to lift from their shoulders. I liked looking out at them as I arranged lilacs into vases. We thought about just wrapping the bouquets in newspaper, tying them with ribbon. But we guessed many of the flowers we sold would be gifted. And handing someone the bouquet that needs to be recut and arranged is a bit like gifting someone a chore. In our vases they would be ready to set on any table or windowsill, just as they were.

And once I put the word out that I was looking for donated vases, lots of folks turned out to have way more than they could use. than they could use. So we hadn't needed to spend a cent to upgrade our blooms for our customers. We'd prepared a few dozen vases and set them out in rows and bunches in our booth. My helpers were ready with change in their aprons, and soon we had our first customers, people who were drawn by the smell. people who were drawn by the smell. You could see their faces change as they breathed in the scent, the way they were transported instantly to some other time and place by the perfume. Many told us of the lilac tree they'd had in their backyard growing up, or how this

was their aunt's favorite flower. How those memories had come rushing back with one breath of this scent. It was something I'd heard so many times and knew myself to be true. myself to be true. By midday, we were down to our last three buckets of blooms, and I was putting together vases of them as fast as I could. We told customers about my farmhouse in the country, surrounded by lilac bushes in every direction. How I'd been a lilac thief, but was now reformed. How the money we were raising today would help the monarch habitat across from the elementary school. A few people had been to the farm before, had seen the signs encouraging them to stop and take home a few stems. But there were plenty who never smelled a lilac, and I hoped we were creating a memory for them that they could return to many times. I swapped jobs with an hour to go and let someone else handle bundling the stems. I wrapped one of the aprons around me, noticing

that we had indeed raised a good bit of cash already. As I walked around to the front of the booth to appreciate this dream that I had brought to life, I noticed a little girl, ten or eleven, digging in her pockets for crumpled up dollar bills. She was counting them out and looking at the vases, trying to decide if she had enough for the big one in the center of the table. I called out to the volunteer behind the booth, that since it was almost the end of the day, we should put everything on sale for half off." She looked down at the little girl and nodded at me with a wink.

"'Good call, boss,' she said." The girl handed over her dollars and walked out with the largest vase we had. Her arms had barely wrapped around it, and her face poked through the stems. I knew she might have bought them to gift a parent or grandparent, but I sort of hoped they were all for her. That she would set them on her bedside table, and that the perfume of them would work its way into her dreams as she slept. Yes, it could lead her to a life of crime, a life like my own, the life of a lilac thief. the life of a lilac thief.

But I thought the world needed more of us. More people driven by a love for beautiful things. Sweet dreams.