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You know those days when your brain just won't cooperate?
When you're staring at your to-do list, hopping from call to call, and the mental fog just gets thicker.
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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 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.
Just like a child being tucked in for bed.
You're about to hear a story to send you off to dreamland.
The story is meant to be a soft landing place for your mind so that, instead of circling through thoughts, you can rest it in a sweet, peaceful place.
I'll tell our story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through.
If you find yourself still awake at the end of the first or second telling, don't worry.
Take your mind back to the beginning of the story and walk yourself back through the details that you remember, especially any bit that felt particularly cozy.
You're training your brain and body to wind down, and the more often you do it, the faster you will fall asleep.
So have a bit of patience at the beginning.
Our story tonight is called Rainy Morning, and it's a story about savoring a good book from bed.
It's also about resting your eyes, having the house to yourself and looking forward to the next great read.
Now it's time to turn off the light, set everything down, even the thoughts you've carried through the day.
Set them down.
Take some time to cozy your body into your preferred sleeping position.
Get your pillow in the exact right spot and let everything relax.
Now let's take a deep breath in through the nose.
And a soft sigh from the mouth.
Do that one more time.
Breathe in.
And out.
Good.
Rainy morning.
I was staying in bed this morning to finish the last chapters.
In fact, I tried to stay up last night, but the book kept slipping out of my hands.
And the third time it hit me on the forehead, it was suggested that I give up the ghost and turn out the light.
I had and had slept deep, but with long, vivid dreams in which my brain tried several times to finish the story I'd been reading.
Have you ever noticed that dreams can seem sensible, reasonable and important in the gaps of wakefulness that come during the night, then fall apart like a piece of tissue paper in water soon after you wake?
Sometimes I've held on to an idea all night, feeling that it was vital to remember, only to say it out loud in the light of day and hear how confused its logic was.
Dreams must be a different world, one we understand without explanation when we're in it, but fall out of sync with when we're not.
So this morning, my dreams, having missed the mark of my yet unfinished novel, I decided to stay in bed and read to the last page.
Well, first I needed a cup of coffee, so I pulled a sweater around me and headed down to the kitchen.
At the bottom of the stairs.
I stepped up to the window and watched a steady rain coming down.
Nearly all the trees were empty now and we finished raking and tidying the yard for the winter a week or two ago.
The azaleas and rhododendrons were wrapped in burlap and looked a bit like tiny evergreens swathed in snow.
I had a feeling that snow was just a few days away.
This rain was likely the last one we'd see till spring.
In the kitchen.
I took my favorite cup down from the shelf and, as I was pouring the coffee, got a goodbye kiss.
I heard the door close and the house was quiet.
What a treat.
Empty house, rainy day, reading my book in bed.
I carried my cup back up and slid into the still warm sheets, plumping my pillows and getting as comfortable as possible.
It was dark, and before I switched on my light, I just sipped from my cup and let my eyes adjust.
I reached for my book and flipped through the pages.
I'd stuck in my bookmark as I was falling asleep the night before.
But I'd read a few pages in that sort of zombie daze that happens when you push your eyes forward through the text but don't absorb any of it.
It's silly to be stubborn in those moments, to persist in reading when sleep is knocking on your door, at least in my experience.
When my blinks get longer, there is no going back.
Still, I fight it sometimes, like a child asking for one more glass of water before bed.
I found a paragraph that looked reasonably familiar.
And tucking my coffee cup under my chin, began to read.
The pages flew by.
At some point, I got up and refilled my cup.
The rain continued to fall.
I wondered as I passed by the window again if it would become an icy drizzle.
If, as it was hitting the windshields of passing cars, it was landing as brief and blurry flakes before the wipers washed them away back in bed again.
I had just a chapter left and I was sad to see it go.
Every once in a while you get to the end of a book and grieve that you will never be able to read it for the first time again, and this was that sort of book.
Still, I had a few more pages and I tried to savor them, though sometimes caught my eyes jumping ahead, rushing past a passage full of description and straight to spoken words.
This book had a mystery, but was more than that.
It was a tapestry of narratives woven together expertly and in a way that left me trying to tie the loose ends together but knowing and rather liking that I was missing something, something that would come back to shock me in the last chapter.
It was a thrill, and in the end, completely satisfying.
When I finished the last page, I closed the book with a sigh.
Well done, I thought.
I laid the book back on my table and set my empty cup down beside it.
The rain still came down and I clicked off the light and closed my eyes for a few minutes.
Not quite sleeping but dozing between worlds, thinking of the characters I would miss now that I was done.
I imagined them the way they would walk, the sound of their voices, where they might go in the days after their story was finished.
When I opened my eyes again, the light had changed in the room.
The rain had stopped and, while the clouds were still thick in the sky, the dark gloom had given over to a brighter, optimistic gray.
I looked over at my finished book and remembered excitedly that I had book club in a few hours.
I'd signed up at the beginning of the year after seeing a flyer downtown.
It had been one of those things I'd long wondered if I would enjoy and realized that I wasn't likely to find out unless I tried.
It turned out that I loved it.
We met in the back room of the bookshop on the first and third Wednesday of every month and alternated between classics, cozy mysteries and biographies.
The bookshop owner hosted us graciously with pots of tea.
And we took turns bringing snacks, fresh fruit, toasted nuts, scones, and muffins.
She also helped us to set a few discussion questions to get the wheels turning each time, and gave us her recommendations of new books that had just come out and overlooked ones that deserved more attention.
We would be voting tonight on our next read and I'd been researching a bit about the options that were currently suggested.
It was time for a biography, and there wasn't a weak candidate among them.
One was the story of a man who'd ventured into the Arctic documenting various phenomena that had never been seen before, and lived long after to see his work lead to many discoveries.
Another was the story of a royal family whose dynasty had been full of fascinating twists and turns, and the aftermath that continued for centuries.
The last option and the one that had my vote, was written by a famous and beloved author who wrote the story of an important man that had nearly been forgotten.
When she couldn't find a publisher to print her book.
It had been locked away for 80 years and was just now finally being shared.
I thought that, whether or not my pick won the vote, I'd be adding that book to my stack and diving in as the winter arrived.
Just a few more minutes in bed, and I'd get up and start the day.
Rainy morning.
I was staying in bed this morning, to finish the last chapters.
In fact, I'd tried to stay up last night, but the book kept slipping out of my hands.
And the third time, it hit me on my forehead.
It was suggested that I give up the ghost. and turn out the light.
I had and had slept deep, but with long, vivid dreams in which my brain tried several times to finish the story I'd been reading.
Have you ever noticed that dreams can seem sensible, reasonable and important in the gaps of wakefulness that come during the night, then fall apart like a piece of tissue paper in water soon after you wake?
Sometimes I've held onto an idea all night, feeling that it was vital to remember, only to say it out loud in the light of day and hear how confused its logic was.
Dreams must be a different world, one where we understand without explanation when we're in it, but fall out of sync with when we're not.
So this morning, my dreams, having missed the mark of my yet unfinished novel, I decided to stay in bed and read to the last page.
Well, first I needed a cup of coffee, so I pulled a sweater around me and headed down to the kitchen.
At the bottom of the stairs, I stepped up to the window, and watched a steady rain coming down.
Nearly all the trees were empty now and we'd finished raking and tidying the yard for the winter a week or two ago.
The azaleas and rhododendrons were wrapped in burlap and looked a bit like tiny evergreens swathed in snow.
I had a feeling that snow was just a few days away.
This rain was likely the last one we'd see till spring.
In the kitchen, I took my favorite cup down from the shelf.
And as I was pouring the coffee, got a goodbye kiss.
I heard the door close and the house was quiet.
What a treat.
Empty house, rainy day, and reading my book in bed.
I carried my cup back up and slid into the still warm sheets, plumping my pillows and getting as comfortable as possible.
It was dark and before I switched on my light, I just sipped from my cup and let my eyes adjust.
I reached for my book and flipped through the pages.
I'd stuck in my bookmark as I was falling asleep the night before.
But I'd read a few pages in that sort of zombie daze that happens when you push your eyes forward through the text but don't really absorb any of it.
It's silly to be stubborn in those moments, to persist in reading when sleep is knocking on your door, at least in my experience.
When my blinks get longer, there is no going back.
Still, I fight it sometimes, like a child asking for one more glass of water before bed.
I found a paragraph that looked reasonably familiar and, tucking my coffee cup under my chin, began to read.
The pages flew by.
At some point, I got up and refilled my cup.
The rain continued to fall and I wondered, as I passed by the window again, if it would become an icy drizzle.
If, as it was hitting the windshields of passing cars, it was landing as brief and blurry flakes before the wipers washed them away?
Back in bed again, I had just a chapter left, and I was a bit sad to see it go.
Every once in a while, you get to the end of a book and grieve that you will never be able to read it for the first time again, and this was that sort of book.
Still, I had a few more pages and I tried to savor them, though sometimes caught my eyes jumping ahead, rushing past a passage full of description and straight to spoken words.
This book had a mystery, but was more than that.
It was a tapestry of narratives woven together expertly and in a way that left me trying to tie the loose ends together, but knowing and rather liking that I was missing something, something that came back to shock me in the last chapter.
It was a thrill, and in the end, completely satisfying.
And when I finished the last page, closed the book, With a sigh, well done, I thought.
I laid the book back on my table and set my empty cup down beside it.
The rain was still coming down and I clicked off the light. and closed my eyes for a few minutes.
Not quite sleeping but dozing between worlds, thinking of the characters I would miss now that I was done.
I imagined them the way they would walk, the sound of their voices, where they might go in the days after their story was finished.
When I opened my eyes again, the light had changed in the room.
The rain had stopped.
And while the clouds were still thick in the sky, the dark gloom had given over to a brighter, optimistic gray.
I looked over at my finished book and remembered excitedly that I had book club in a few hours.
I'd signed up at the beginning of the year after seeing a flyer downtown.
It had been one of those things I'd wondered if I would enjoy and realized that I wasn't likely to find out unless I tried.
It turned out that I loved it.
We met in the back room of the bookshop on the first and third Wednesday of every month and alternated between classics, cozy mysteries and biographies.
The bookshop owner hosted us graciously with pots of tea, and we took turns bringing snacks fresh fruit, toasted nuts, scones and muffins.
She also helped us to set a few discussion questions to get the wheels turning each time, and gave us her recommendations of new books that had just come out and overlooked ones that deserved more attention.
We would be voting tonight on our next read and I'd been researching a bit about the options that were currently suggested.
It was time for a biography, and there wasn't a weak candidate among them.
One was the story of a man who'd ventured into the Arctic documenting various phenomena that had never been seen before, and lived long after to see his work lead to many discoveries.
Another was the story of a royal family whose dynasty had been full of fascinating twists and turns, and the aftermath that continued for centuries.
The last option and the one that had my vote, was written by a famous and beloved author who wrote the story of an important man that had nearly been forgotten.
When she couldn't find a publisher to print her book.
It had been locked away for 80 years and was just now finally being shared.
I thought that, whether or not my pick won the vote, I'd be adding her book to my stack and diving in as the winter arrived.
Just a few more minutes in bed, and I'd get up and start the day.
Sweet dreams.
