Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - W-A-L-K

Episode Date: June 16, 2025

Our story tonight is called W-A-L-K, and it’s a story about a little brown dog and his favorite outdoor activity. It’s also about the smell of watered lawns in the evening, a frisbee and friends from down the block, porch lights and watermelon, and the moment when you close the door on the day. 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 ⁠Ele’s Place for Grieving Children⁠. Ele's Place is a nonprofit, community-based organization dedicated to creating awareness of and support for grieving children, teens and their families. Jaspr Air Scrubber: Learn more at ⁠jaspr.co⁠, and use the code SLEEP to get $300 off. ⁠NMH merch, autographed books and more!⁠ ⁠Pay it forward subscription⁠  Listen to our daytime show ⁠Stories from the Village of Nothing Much⁠.  ⁠First This, Kathryn’s guided mediation podcast. ⁠ Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Hi friends. Want every episode ad free? Tap the link in our show notes to subscribe. If you're on Apple Podcasts, just hit subscribe on our show page. Easy and it helps keep the show going. Let's take a deep breath together. In through the nose. And out through the mouth. It feels good to breathe deeply. And the air we breathe, especially at night, matters more than we might think. While we sleep, our bodies are hard at work, restoring, repairing, and recharging. But that work can be quietly disrupted by what's floating in the air—things like dust, pollen, and other allergens. I didn't used to think much about indoor air quality, but once I did, I realized, if

we care about what we eat and drink, why not care just as much about what we breathe? That's why I sleep with a Jasper air scrubber in my room. It has no annoying lights and doubles as a gentle white noise machine that's become essential to my bedtime rhythm. But more than anything, it's turned my bedroom into a sleep sanctuary. A space where the air helps me sleep, deeply and peacefully. I can't recommend Jasper enough. You can learn more at Jasper.co.

And if you use the code SLEEP, you'll get $300 off. That's JASPR.co. Use code SLEEP for $300 off. Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Katherine Nicolai. I write and read 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 Elle's Place for grieving children. Elle's Place is a nonprofit, community-based organization, dedicated to creating awareness of and support for grieving children, teens, and their families.

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It is a way to gently unwind and guide your mind to someplace soft and safe. Just by listening, you'll build a reliable response that will help you fall asleep faster and return to sleep more easily the more you use it. Most people report that it takes about a month of regular use to see the best results.

I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through. and I'll go a little slower the second time through. Our story tonight is called W.A.L.K. and it's a story about a little brown dog and his favorite outdoor activity. It's also about the smell of watered lawns in the evening, a frisbee and friends from down the block, porch lights and watermelon, and the moment when you close the door on

the day. So lights out, campers. Tuck yourself in and let your whole body relax. You are about to fall asleep and And sigh it out. One more. Breathe in. And let it out. Good. W.A.L.K. We just finished dinner. I was still sitting at the table on the back patio, leaning back in my chair, with my hand resting on my full belly. We'd had corn on the cob, veggie burgers with all the fixings, and tiny potatoes we'd cooked right on the grill and tossed with herbs and olive oil. We had a

watermelon ripe and ready to cut, but I think both of us were too full to do more than look at it right now. Birdie, our greyhound, was lying under the table, with his long flank resting on my foot. Often when we ate, he stretched out under the legs of our chairs. By now, he'd trained us to be careful before we stood up. I think it was his gentle way of keeping track of us. He'd have a paw touching his dad's ankle, his hip touching mine. And that way he knew, even as he slept, that we were close. Crum, his smaller and scruffier brother, was another story. He spent most of dinner jumping and fussing, trying to get our attention with each bite, just in case, you know, we'd forgotten he was there and were interested in handing over a bit of the burger, a few of those crispy potatoes, or the last bite of the bun. We didn't feed

him from the table, or at least I didn't, so I don't know where he could have learned learned such behavior. And tonight he was particularly revved up. We'd both had busy days and he'd missed his morning walk. His dad was carrying plates into the house, and I could hear the sink filling up with water. As he came back for the last few dishes, he leaned close to my ear and said, I think he might want to go Don't say it," I whispered hurriedly. He cleared his throat. For a W-A-L-K. We both looked at Crum, who was watching us intently. His head tipped to one side. I don't think we were actually fooling him. He knew just from the words, go for a, that his favorite activity was being discussed. We had various strategies for speaking about it in ways we hoped wouldn't turn him into a lamp knocking over, screen door ripping, mom and dadulation time, or simply a W. But he often cottoned on to us, as he seemed to now. He'd sprung to his feet and was sweeping his tail back and forth wildly behind him. His eyes were wide and he kept switching his gaze from one to the other of us, waiting

to see who was going to get up and put their shoes on. Okay, Crumbleberry," I said, clapping my hands onto my thighs and standing up. Well, go. I figured I may as well let him get excited out here since there weren't any lamps to knock over. I had to carefully wiggle my foot out from under Bertie, who I knew would much rather snooze the evening away, than lope down the sidewalk with Crum and me. I scanned the windows, looking for our cat Marmalade, and finally noticed a bundle of orange fur pressed against the screen in in our bedroom. She, too, was well into her post-dinner nap. I turned to go in the house for shoes and the leash when the screens lit back and they

were pushed into my hands. I chuckled, knowing this was as much a courtesy to me as it was a way to keep Crum out from under his feet while he did the dishes. This way we could go straight through the garden gate and out onto the street. I guess he sure told us, didn't he, Crum? I said as I stepped into my shoes and clipped the leash in place. Crum responded by turning and pulling me with all his force over to the gate. And a few moments later, we were out on the sidewalk, taking in the evening air together. And the air did smell good tonight. That sweet summer freshness of watered lawns and flower gardens. As Crum sniffed through the grass, I drew deep lungfuls of it in and sighed it out. I drew deep lungfuls of it in and sighed it out. Cromm and I had walked these streets so many times together.

Years of early spring, ripe summer, and chilly fall trips around the neighborhood. I smiled to myself as I watched his confident little trot. The tips of his ears bounced with each step, and he held his head high. I did the same. Even when I thought I was too tired for a walk, usually within the first hundred steps, I'd start to feel my mood rising. And tonight was no exception. We turned a corner and spotted a familiar group coming our way. Crumb began to pull at the leash, excited to meet up with his friends. Clover, a sweet golden retriever who was just starting to show some gray on her face, and her little brother Crimson, an Irish setter pup with beautiful red fur,

were striding toward us with their two boys. were striding toward us with their two boys. Crimson was growing so fast. He'd been closer to crumb-size the last time we'd seen him. But now he was almost as big as Clover. And his ears were long and droopy. He had a long nose as well, that he still looked to be growing into. When the dogs got close enough, they began to sniff and drop into play bows and bark. Clover sat down panting slightly while the younger pups circled each other. I noticed one of the boys had a frisbee in his hand, and I asked if they were heading to the park. The younger brother, who usually didn't talk much, seemed to have grown out of his shyness, Because he spoke right up to tell me that they were, but first, um, they were going to their aunt's house to see if she wanted to go too, and also she has ice cream bars in her fridge.

Smart plan, I said, and let them go on their way. Crumb and Crimson had to be coaxed apart, and I promised I'd bring him around to their yard on Saturday for a playdate. We turned another corner, and I could start to feel crumb slowing down. The desperate energy he'd started with was mellowing into a relaxed pace, and Marmalade met us, meowing at the door. I brought him back, Marmee, I said, as I un-clipped his leash and eased out of my shoes. From the kitchen, I could hear the clink of dishes being put away and the click of Birdie's toenails

on the tile. Grum raced off to lap at his water bowl and I sighed and paused before closing the door, looking out on our quiet street, the lit windows of our neighbors, and the long shadows on the lawns. Good night, everyone, I thought. W.A.L.K. We had just finished dinner. I was still sitting at the table on the back patio, leaning back in my chair with my hand resting on my full belly. We'd had corn on the cob, veggie burgers with all the fixings,

and tiny potatoes we'd cooked right on the grill and tossed with herbs and olive oil. And we had a watermelon, ripe and ready to cut. ripe and ready to cut. But I think both of us were too full to do more than look at it right now. Birdie, our greyhound, was lying under the table, with his long flank resting on my foot. Often when we ate, he stretched out us to be careful before we stood up. I think it was his gentle way of keeping track of us. He'd have a paw touching his dad's ankle, his hip touching mine. And that way he knew, even as he slept, that we were close. Crum, his smaller and scruffier brother, was another story. He spent most of dinner jumping

and fussing, trying to get our attention with each bite. Just in case, you know, we'd forgotten he was there, and were interested in handing over a bit of the burger, a few of those crispy potatoes, or the last bite of the bun. We didn't feed him from the table. Or, at least, I didn't. So, I don't know where he could have learned such behavior. And tonight, he was particularly revved up. We'd both had busy days. And he'd missed his morning walk. His dad was carrying plates into the house, and I could hear the sink filling up with water. As he came back for the last few dishes, he leaned close to my ear and said, I think he might want to go for a—

Don't say it. I whispered hurriedly. He cleared his throat. For a W-A-L-K. We both looked at Crum, who was watching us His head tipped to one side. I don't think we were actually fooling him. He knew just from the words, Go Fora, that his favorite activity was being discussed. We had various strategies for speaking about it in ways we hoped wouldn't turn him into a lamp knocking over, screen door ripping. Mom and dad tripping. Tornado. Sometimes we called it his daily constitutional. Or perambulation time. or simply a W. But he often cottoned on to us, as he seemed to now. He'd sprung to his feet and was sweeping his tail back and forth wildly behind him. His eyes were wide, and he kept switching his gaze from one to the other of us, waiting to see onto my thighs and standing up,

we will go. I figured I may as well let him get excited out here, since there weren't any lamps to knock over. since there weren't any lamps to knock over. I had to carefully wiggle one foot out from under Bertie, who I knew would much rather snooze the evening away than lope down the sidewalk with Crumb and me. marmalade, and finally noticed a bundle of orange fur pressed against the screen in our bedroom. She, too, was well into her post-dinner nap. I turned to go in the house for shoes and leash

when the screen slid back and they were pushed into my hands. I chuckled, knowing this was as much a courtesy to me as it was a way to keep Crum out from under his feet while he did the dishes. This way we could go straight through the garden gate and out onto the street. My guess he sure told us, didn't he, Crum? I said. As I stepped into my shoes and clipped the leash in place, Crum responded by turning and pulling me, with all his force, over to the gate. And a few moments later, we were out on the sidewalk, taking in the evening air

together. And the air did smell good tonight. That sweet summer fresh, of watered lawns and flower gardens. As Crum sniffed through the grass, I drew deep lungfuls of it in and sighed it out. Crum and I had walked these streets so many times together. Years of early spring, ripe ripe summer and chilly fall trips around the neighborhood. I smiled to myself as I watched his confident little trot. The tips of his ears bounced with each step, and he held his head high. I did the same. Even when I thought I was too tired for a walk, usually within the first hundred steps, I'd start to feel my mood rising. Tonight was no exception. We turned a corner and spotted a familiar group coming our way. Crumb began to pull at the leash, excited to meet up with his friends. Clover, a sweet golden retriever who was just starting to

show some gray on her face. And her little brother Crimson, an Irish setter pup with beautiful red fur, were striding toward us with their two boys. was growing so fast. He'd been closer to crumb size the last time we'd seen him. But now he was almost as big as Clover, and his ears were long and droopy. He had a long nose as well, that he was still growing into. When the dogs got close enough, they began to sniff and drop into play bows and bark. and drop into play bows and bark. Clover sat down panting slightly while the younger pups circled each other. I noticed one of the boys had a frisbee in his hand

and I asked if they were heading to the park. The younger brother, who usually didn't talk much, seemed to have grown out of his shyness, because he spoke right up to tell me they were, but first, um, they were going to their aunt's house to see if she wanted to go too, and also she has ice cream bars in her fridge. Smart plan, I said, and let them go on their way. Crumb and Crimson had to be coaxed apart, and I promised I'd bring crumb slowing down. The desperate energy he'd started with was mellowing into a relaxed pace, and he paused to leisurely sniff more deeply. The porch light was on when we climbed the front steps, and Marmalade met us, meowing at the door. I brought him back, Marmee, I said, as I un-clipped his leash and eased out of my shoes.

From the kitchen, I could hear the clink of dishes being put away on the click of birdies' toenails on the tile. Crum raced off to lap at his water bowl, and I sighed and paused before closing the door, looking out on our quiet street, the lit windows of our neighbors, and the long shadows on the lawns. Good night, everyone, I thought. Sweet dreams.