Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep - Yard Sale OR Another Man's Treasure

Episode Date: August 8, 2022

Our story tonight is called Yard Sale or Another Man’s Treasure and it’s a story about a neighborhood event on a summer day. It’s also about sidewalk chalk art, a collection of salt and pepper shakers, and red petunias growing in a flower box. Order the book now! Get our ad-free and bonus episodes.Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-HappensSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Grownups, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. If you think you might like to hear me in the daytime, and probably not fall asleep when you do, please check out my 10-minute meditation podcast.

It's called First This. I'm a long-time meditator and teacher, and I focus on clear, simple instruction that is practical and easy to understand. It's free on any podcast app. Just search First This. Now, let's get ready to sleep. I'll read you a story. It's a place to rest your mind, like an upturned leaf resting on the surface of a river. Your mind will follow along with the moving current of my voice and our story, and before you know it, it will ease you into deep sleep.

I'll read the story twice, and I'll go a little slower on the second read. If you wake in the night, take yourself back into the story, thinking back through any bit you can remember. This interrupts your brain's tendency to cycle through thought and will put you right back in sleep mode. It is brain training and it might take a bit of practice, so be patient if you're new to this. Now, it's time to switch off the light. Set aside anything you've been looking at or working on. Adjust your pillows and comforter you feel completely at ease. I'll be right here, reading even after you fall asleep. I'll watch over so you can rest. Now take a deep breath in through your nose

and sigh out through the mouth. Again, breathe in and out. Good. Our story tonight is called Yard Sale, or Another Man's Treasure. And it's a story about a neighborhood event on a summer day. It's also about sidewalk chalk art, a collection of salt and pepper shakers, and red petunias growing in a flower box. Yard sale, or another man's treasure. We'd hatched a plan for this weekend, way back in the spring, when we'd all gotten together to pitch in for a neighborhood cleanup. Honestly, it had been a lot of fun. We'd planted flowers

and raked the dried leaves out from under the shrubs in the empty lot. We'd gathered up litter and helped a few neighbors with chores they couldn't manage on their own. After a long winter in my house, I'd enjoyed every minute of it. The physical exertion, the conversations with my neighbors, and the satisfied feeling at the end of the day as we surveyed what we'd done.

We'd all stayed in touch after that. We'd organized a seed swap for the gardeners, a casual potluck in the park, and a sidewalk chalk art contest with the neighborhood kids. That had been fun. We had given them a theme, something about summer vacations, and one evening everyone and walked from one to the other, admiring all the art. Some of it was quite simple, just some stick figures in blue waves. Some was, well, abstract, probably done by very little ones who were just happy to be outside,

scribbling on the concrete. And a couple families had gone all out with Halloween skeletons brought up from the basement, dressed in Hawaiian shirts and board shorts, propped up beside seascapes that took up a whole yard's worth of sidewalk, or a lawn full of pup tents and drawings of summer camp, complete with a fire pit and marshmallows ready to toast.

It had been such fun that we were already planning another for the fall, and a decoration and light contest for December. And this weekend was another one of our big ideas. We were having a neighborhood yard sale and hoping to attract folks from all over the village to come poke through our old lamps, board games, and casserole dishes. Last night I helped put up signs at the entrance to our neighborhood, hand-painted ones with metal prongs sandwiched in between the cardboard that we pushed into the grass. The sale would go from ten to five today, and we'd even arranged for a local charity

to come by with their big truck at the end of the day to gather all the leftover bits for donation. Now it was the morning of, and the whole neighborhood seemed to be getting in on it. People were setting out card tables in their driveways, arranging their inventory on storage shelves in their garages. And a few enterprising kids were setting up a lemonade stand by the edge of the park.

Some households had lots to sell, with old bicycles and bed frames and buffet tables lining their sidewalks. And others only had a few items up for grabs. I was in the latter category, and a friend down the street had offered me space in her own garage, so I didn't have to sit alone with my crate of old records, my collection of kitschy salt and pepper shakers,

and my well-intended but never used snowshoes. My things were piled into my little red wagon, and I set off down the street. And as I was in no hurry, I decided to do a little browsing on my way there. I pulled my wagon up in front of a yard full of comic books. This neighbor was wise. She'd set out a few beanbag chairs under a big beach umbrella beside the racks of comics, which I'm sure would prove tempting to more than a few customers.

She also had lots of books, and I flipped through a photo book, showing snow-capped mountains and wild landscapes. I was getting to know my neighbors as I walked from driveway to driveway. The next yard was full of sports equipment, skis and skateboards, a volleyball net and posts rolled up in a long box, and a whole table full of softball mitts and bats. Across the street, I perused a beautiful collection of dollhouses,

all made by hand. I looked in the tiny windows to spy the dining table laid for dinner, the grandfather clock beside the stairs seeming to tick, and a playroom with its own dollhouse, a minuscule replica of the one I was admiring. Gosh, my neighbors were interesting. Traffic was beginning to pick up,

cars stopping here and there, and some bargaining going on in nearly every driveway. I tugged down the handle of my wagon and meandered a little more purposely toward my friend's sale. The house kitty-cornered to hers was one I'd always loved. It had a broad front porch that you'd want to sit on every summer evening, maybe even when it was raining,

to smell the fresh air and listen to the drops coming down I'd helped here along with a few others during that spring cleanup to take the storm windows down from their hooks and store them in the garage. And I was so happy to see the man who lived in this house, out on his porch, enjoying the day with all of us. We'd planted bright red petunias in his flower boxes,

and they stood out sharply against the white clabbered siding. They were cascading over the edge of their boxes now, with lots of pretty blooms. I stopped to chat with him from the sidewalk, asking if he was planning on doing some shopping today. He said he liked to watch from the porch swing, and also that he had his own item to sell. He gestured to the upright piano, visible through his front window. He said he didn't play much anymore, but that it was a shame to let it sit and fall out of tune.

I promised to spread the word, thinking that I would keep a lookout for a few wide boards to help move it down the front steps. And that certainly one of the families around here would be happy to give it a new home. We waved goodbye for now, and I crossed the street to set up my items. There was a table set aside for me, and I'd brought an old tablecloth to make my stuff look a little nicer. I shook it out and spread it over the surface

and artfully arranged my inventory. I set the crate of records on its side and fanned out the ones I thought might be most of interest to customers. The salt and pepper shakers were lined up in order from silliest to least hokey, and my snowshoes had their sale tags facing out. I was ready for business. Yard sale, or another man's treasure. We'd hatched a plan for this weekend,

way back in the spring. When we'd all gotten together to pitch in for a neighborhood cleanup. Honestly, it had been a lot of fun. We'd planted flowers and raked the dried leaves out from under the shrubs in the empty lot. We'd gathered up litter and helped a few neighbors with chores they couldn't manage on their own. After a long winter in my house, I'd enjoyed every minute of it. The physical exertion,

the conversations with my neighbors, and the satisfied feeling at the end of the day as we surveyed what we'd done. We'd stayed in touch after that. We'd organized a seed swap for the gardeners, a casual potluck in the park, and a sidewalk chalk art contest with the neighborhood kids. That had been fun. We'd given them a theme,

something about summer vacations. And one evening, everyone came out and walked from one to the other, admiring all the art. Some of it was quite simple, just some stick figures and blue waves. Some was, well, abstract, probably done by very little ones

who were just happy to be outside, scribbling on the concrete. And a couple families had gone all out with Halloween skeletons brought up from the basement, dressed in Hawaiian shirts and board shorts propped up beside seascapes that took up a whole yard's worth of sidewalk, or a lawn full of pup tents and drawings of summer camp, complete with a fire pit and marshmallows ready to toast.

It had been such fun that we were already planning another for the fall, and a decoration and light contest for December. And this weekend was another one of our big ideas. we were having a neighborhood yard sale and hoping to attract folks from all over the village to come poke through our old lamps, board games, and casserole dishes. Last night, I'd helped put up signs at the entrance to our neighborhood. Hand-painted ones with metal prongs

sandwiched in between the cardboard that we'd pushed into the grass. The sale would go from ten to five today, and we'd even arranged for a local charity to come by with their big truck at the end of the day to gather all the leftover bits for donation. Now, it was the morning of, and the whole neighborhood seemed to be getting in on it. People were setting out card tables in their driveways,

arranging their inventory on storage shelves in their garages. And a few enterprising kids were setting up a lemonade stand by the edge of the park. Some households had lots to sell with old bicycles and bed frames and buffet tables lining their sidewalks. And others had only a few items up for grabs. I was in the latter category,

and a friend down the street had offered me space in her own garage, so I didn't have to sit alone with my crate of old records, my collection of kitschy salt and pepper shakers and my well-intended but never used snowshoes. My things were piled into my little red wagon and I set off down the street. And as I was in no hurry, I decided to do a little browsing on my way there. I pulled my wagon up in front of a yard full of comic books now this neighbor was wise

she'd set out a few beanbag chairs under a big beach umbrella beside the racks of comics which I'm sure would prove tempting under a big beach umbrella beside the racks of comics, which I'm sure would prove tempting to more than a few customers. She also had lots of books, and I flipped through a photo book, showing snow-capped mountains and wild landscapes. I was getting to know my neighbors as I walked from driveway to driveway.

The next yard was full of sports equipment, skis and skateboards, a volleyball net and posts rolled up in a long box, and a whole table full of softball mitts and bats. Across the street, I perused a beautiful all made by hand. I looked in the tiny windows to spy the dining table laid for dinner, the grandfather clock beside the stairs seeming to tick, and a playroom with its own dollhouse a minuscule replica of the one I was admiring

gosh my neighbors were interesting traffic was beginning to pick up My neighbors were interesting. Traffic was beginning to pick up. Cars stopping here and there. And some bargaining going on in nearly every driveway. I tugged on the handle of my wagon and meandered a little more purposely

toward my friend's sail. The house kitty-corner to hers was one I'd always loved. It had a broad front porch that you'd want to sit on every summer evening, maybe even when it was raining, to smell the fresh air and listen to the drops coming down. I'd helped here, along with a few others, during that spring spring cleanup to take the storm windows down from their hooks and store them in the garage. And I was happy to see the man who lived in this house out on his porch,

enjoying the day with all of us. We planted bright red petunias in his flower boxes, and they stood out sharply against the white clabbered siding. They were cascading over the edge of their boxes now, with lots of pretty blooms. I stopped to chat with him from the sidewalk, asking if he was planning on doing some shopping today. He said he liked to watch from the porch swing,

and also that he had his own item to sell. He gestured to the upright piano visible through his front window. he said he didn't play much anymore but that it was a shame to let it sit and fall out of tune I promised to spread the word thinking that I would keep a lookout

for a few wide boards to help move it down the front steps. And that certainly one of the families around here would be happy to give it a new home. We waved goodbye for now, and I crossed the street to set up my items. There was a table set aside for me, and I'd brought an old tablecloth to make my stuff look a little nicer.

I shook it out and spread it over the surface and artfully arranged my inventory. I set the crate of records on its side and fanned out the ones I thought might be most of interest to customers. The salt and pepper shakers were lined up in order from silliest to least hokey, and my snowshoes had their sail tags facing out. I was ready for business. Sweet dreams.