Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Tiny House (Encore)

Episode Date: April 30, 2026

Originally aired April 14, 2025 (Season 15, Episode 30) Our story tonight is called Tiny House, and it’s a story about a snug small space to relax in. It’s also about impatiens for the flower bed, sunny days on the edge of the woods, hammocks and reading nooks, and the relief of having fewer decisions to make and more time to enjoy. Thank you for being a Premium subscriber. 💙 Pre-order Kathryn’s new book here! NMH merch, autographed books, and more Listen to our daytime show Stories from the Village of Nothing Much Sit Meditation with Kathryn Pay it forward subscription Follow us on Instagram Visit Nothing Much Happens for more Village fun! Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Get more, nothing much happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories, and ad-free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe now. Want to go electric without sacrificing fun? That's the Volkswagen ID4. All electric and thoughtfully designed to elevate your modern lifestyle. The Volkswagen ID4 is fun to drive with instant acceleration that makes city streets feel like open roads. Plus a refined interior with innovative technology, all of the newfound. always at your fingertips.

The all-electric ID4. You deserve more fun. Visit vw.ca to learn more. S-UvW, German-engineered for all. Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolai.

I write and read all. the stories you hear on nothing much happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We are bringing you an encore episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past. It could have been recorded with different equipment in a different location. And since I'm a person and not a computer, I sometimes sound just slightly different,

but the stories are always soothing and family-friendly, and our wishes for you are always deep rest and sweet dreams. Now, busy minds need a place to rest. And that's exactly what I have for you. And for this to work, all you need to do, is listen. Let your attention rest on my voice, like an upturned leaf, resting on the current of a river. Before you know it, you'll be fast asleep. I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake again in the night, don't hesitate to turn a story

back on. It'll rock you right back to sleep. This is brain training and improves with use. So be patient if you are new to this. Our story tonight is called Tiny House, and it's a story about a snug, small space to relax in. It's also about impatience for the flower bed, sunny days on the edge of the woods, hammocks and reading nooks and the relief of having fewer decisions to make and more time to enjoy. So lights out campers, set everything down,

even your thoughts and worries. Set them down for now. If they are useful, you can pick them up tomorrow. But most likely, you'll forget them as you dream. notice how good it feels to be in bed to be at the end of this day

feel your jaw softening your shoulders relaxing all is well take a deep breath in through your nose let it out your mouth nice one more breathe in and out

good tiny house ever since I was a child I've loved snug spaces, the cupboard under the stairs, the space between the sofa and the wall, pillow forts and reading nooks, and even as I grew up, I loved the corner booth at the diner, a window seat with a curtain that you can pull closed, the interior of my small car, parked on the edge of the park, on a rainy, chill day. with a heat running and some music playing from the radio. I think it's the simplicity of small spaces

that make them feel so soothing to me, caring for them, cleaning and organizing, and being in them comes with a paired down list of options. So the overworked decision-making part of my brain gets a break when I'm in them. Instead of wearing myself out with a dozen what ifs or should I's, there is just a simple, clear path. Do this, the small space says. Yes, that feels like a relief to an overworked mind. So a few months ago, I decided to make simple,

simplified spaces, a way of life, rather than an occasional escape. Just before the holidays, I bought a tiny house, sold or gave away most of my things, took what was left, and moved in. I loved it. It felt like the safest little space I'd ever known, small, uncomplicated, an all mine. It sat near a patch of thick woods, a mile or two outside of town. Just before you get to the orchards, I liked the privacy and the quiet out here. From my bed in the sleeping loft, I could see a pond in the distance, where deer and fox came to drink all around my tiny house,

were shrubs and garden beds that I was planning to fill with pretty annuals and small trees since I'd moved in at the end of autumn all I'd had time for outside had been hanging a few strands of Christmas lights on the porch and a wreath on my door but this year I would spend a lot of time outside making the most of my garden.

Already I used the porch every day. That was something I'd noticed about living in a smaller space. In my last house, there were whole rooms I barely ever used, only entered to dust or store things. In this house, I used every space, nearly every day.

and it gave me a sense of not wasting, not wasting space and not wasting time. The porch gave off of my front door, which was painted a cheery yellow among the antique blue of the house exterior. And it held just my comfortable chair and the small table for my coffee and a book. I sat outside as soon as it was warm enough in the mornings and watched the world wake up around me. It had become a kind of meditation to sit there, listen to rain dripping from the eaves and tree branches, were the birds singing on sunny days

to taste the deep, strong flavor of my coffee and smell the woods, And the grass, as spring arrived, might often carry my cup with me as I stepped down from the porch and circle my house slowly, stopping to pull weeds from the beds, or pluck a few stems of lily of the valley from around the oak tree roots. Inside my little house, I'd shed my shoes at the door. and find a small vase for the flowers and clean the whole kitchen in less than a minute flat. In fact, my whole home could be cleaned in less than an hour,

so keeping it just the way I liked it, in order and welcoming, was something I did every day. I found living here that I had more time to do things I loved, felt less overwhelmed by the list of chores and to-does that used to dominate my days. I read more books, went for more walks, listened to more music, and slept better than I had in years. When I'd first told friends about my plans for this tiny house, life. Many had asked,

and what about dinner parties? What about guests? Wouldn't I just need more space at certain times? And I know I haven't lived here long, just six months. But so far their concerns hadn't proved worth worrying over. For the brick patio, at the back of the house. I'd ordered a nice-sized outdoor table if I wanted to have a dinner party. I could do it any day the weather allowed. As for guests,

well, they were welcome to come, to have a cup of tea with me. I'd even take an extra chair out onto the porch for them. But when the visit was over, I'd send them on to the next stop in their journey. I'd spent many years making myself less comfortable to make others more so, and now I was in a different season of my life.

And real friends appreciated that, and never resented it. I guess there could be times when I would want some extra space. but the world was full of space and I'd realized it didn't all have to live in my home. I could be in town in five minutes wandering through the open streets, meeting a big group of friends for a movie or dinner,

watching a soccer game with hundreds of others at the high school stadium, listening to a band play at the clamshell concert stage in the park. In fact, today seemed a good day to step out into the world and find a few things I'd been thinking of from my home. I'd go to the plant nursery and look for a few flats of impatience. For the bed beside the porch, I'd stop by the gift shop. to buy a candle scented for spring.

And I just might go to the hardware store, where I'd seen a display of hammocks in the window. This smaller, simpler approach to living was making more space in my life for little pleasures, more time to just rest and notice and enjoy. and when I came back home today and set the flowers on the patio for tomorrow's planting, lit the candle on my single table,

and locked the door behind me, I'd feel a rush of gratitude for taking this step to move my life more deliberately in the direction of my dreams. Tiny house. Ever since I was a child, I'd loved snug spaces, the cupboard under the stairs, the space between the sofa and the wall, pillow forts, and reading nooks. And even as I grew up, I loved the corner booth at the diner, a window seat with a curtain, with a curtain,

that you can pull closed, the interior of my small car, parked on the edge of the park, on a rainy, chill day with the heat running and some music playing from the radio. I think it's the simplicity of small spaces that make them feel so soothing to me, caring for them. cleaning and organizing and being in them comes with a paired down list of options.

So the overworked decision-making part of my brain gets a break when I'm in them. Instead of wearing myself out with a dozen what-ifs or should I's? there is just a simple, clear path. Do this, the small space says. Yes, that feels like a relief to an overworked mind. So a few months ago, I decided to make simplified spaces a way of life

rather than an occasional escape just before the holidays. I bought a tiny house, sold or gave away most of my things, took what was left and moved in, and I loved it. It felt like the safest little space I'd ever known.

Small, uncomplicated, and all mine. It sat near a patch of thick woods, a mile or two outside of town, just before you get to the orchards. I liked the privacy and the quiet out here from my bed in the sleeping loft. I could see a pond in the distance where deer and fox came to drink all around my tiny house, or shrubs and garden beds that I was planning to fill with pretty annuals and small trees. Since I'd moved in at the end of autumn, all I'd had had time.

for outside. I'd been hanging a few strands of Christmas lights on the porch and a wreath on my door. But this year I would spend a lot of time outside, making the most of my garden. Already, I used the porch every day. That was something I'd noticed. about living in a smaller space. In my last house, there were whole rooms I barely ever used, only entered to dust or store things. In this house, I used every space, nearly every day,

and it gave me a sense of not wasting, not wasting space, and not wasting time. The porch gave off of my front door, which was painted a cheery yellow among the antique blue of the house exterior, and it held just my comfortable chair on a small table for my coffee and a book. I sat outside as soon as it was warm enough in the mornings and watched the world wake up around me. It had become a kind of meditation to sit there, to listen, to rain, dripping from the eaves and tree branches to taste the deep, strong flavor of my coffee, and smell the woods and grass. As spring arrived, I'd often carry my cup with me. As I

stepped down from the porch and circle my house slowly, stopping to pull weeds from the beds or pluck a few stems of lily of the valley from around the oak tree roots inside my little house. I'd shed my shoes at the door and find a small vase for the flowers and clean the whole kitchen in less than a minute flat. In fact, my whole home could be cleaned in less. In less than a minute. In less than an hour. So keeping it just the way I liked it, in order, and welcoming was something I did every day. I found living here that I had more time to do things I loved, felt less overwhelmed by the list of chores and to-does that used to dominate my days. I read more books, went for more walks, listened to more music, and slept better than I had in years. When I'd first told friends

about my plans for this tiny house life. Many had asked, what about dinner parties? What about guests? Wouldn't I just need more space at certain times? I know I haven't lived here long, just six months. But so far,

their concerns hadn't proved worth worrying over for the brick patio at the back of the house. I'd ordered a nice-sized outdoor table if I wanted to have a dinner party. I could do it any day the weather allowed. as for guests, well, they were welcome to come, to have a cup of tea with me. I'd even take an extra chair out onto the porch for them. When the visit was over, I'd send them on to the next stop in their journey. I'd spent many years making myself. less comfortable to make others more so. And now I was in a different season of my life,

and real friends appreciated that. I never resented it. My guessed there could be times when I would want some extra space, but the world was full of space. And I'd realized it didn't all have to live in my home. I could be in town in five minutes, wandering through the open streets, meeting a big group of friends for a movie or dinner, watching a soccer game, with hundreds of others at the high school stadium.

listening to a band play at the clamshell concert stage in the park. In fact, today seemed a good day to step out into the world and find a few things I'd been thinking of for my home. I'd go to the plant nursery and look for a few flats of impatience. for the bed beside the porch, I'd stop by the gift shop to buy a candle, scented for spring, and I just might go to the hardware store, where I'd seen a display of hammocks in the window. This smaller, simpler approach to living was making more space in my life. for little pleasures, for time to just rest and notice and enjoy.

And when I came back home today and set the flowers on the patio for tomorrow's planting, lit the candle on my single table and locked the door behind me, I'd feel a rush of gratitude for taking. this step to move my life more deliberately in the direction of my dreams. Sweet dreams.