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Have you ever wished you could visit the village of Nothing Much?
Well, this is your invitation.
Join me, Katherine Nicolai, for a live virtual event on Wednesday, November 19th at 6 p.m.
Pacific, 9 p.m.
Eastern.
It will be a cozy night of storytelling, music, and calm.
I'll share three handpicked bedtime stories, including one you've never heard on the podcast brought to life with healing, music from Aya Ayal and sound design by Bob.
We'll pause between stories for guided journaling and creative moments to help you slow down, reconnect and rest.
And you'll receive exclusive extras created just for this event, including a brand new illustration from the village, thoughtful journaling prompts and a few playful surprises to enjoy at home.
If you join the Dreamers inner circle, you can stay for a cozy after party where I'll answer your questions, share character updates and reveal some behind-the-scenes stories that never made it into the podcast.
You can tune in from anywhere, but it's one night only, so don't miss it.
Go to pave.live to get your ticket.
That's P-A-V-E dot L-I-V-E.
You know those days? when your brain just feels foggy.
You're staring at a list of things to do, but your focus is gone and your willpower is not enough to bring it back.
That used to be my cue for another coffee.
And then I'd end up jittery and crashing later.
So I started using Brain Edge from Nature Sunshine.
It's a plant-powered drink mix that combines hand-harvested yerba mate and with powerful nootropics to support focus, memory and cognitive performance without the crash.
And what I notice is simple.
I can think clearly again.
I stay present.
I actually finish what I start.
The nootropic botanicals enhance focus and clarity.
Ingredients like bacopa and ginkgo support memory and mental stamina, and the yerba mate gives smooth, sustained energy.
No jitters and no crash.
And I like knowing that the Yerba Mate is wild harvested by indigenous communities and that Nature Sunshine has over 50 years of sourcing experience.
It fits right into my wellness routine, hot or iced.
Don't fight through feeling foggy and lethargic.
Ignite your mental performance with Brain Edge.
Nature Sunshine is offering 20% off your first order plus free shipping.
Go to naturesunshine.com. and use the code NOTHINGMUCH at checkout.
That's code NOTHINGMUCH at naturesunshine.com.
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 First Nations Development Institute.
Their mission is to uplift and sustain the lifeways and economies of Native communities through advocacy, financial support and knowledge sharing.
You can learn more about them in our show notes.
We have something really special coming up.
It's a live, online, nothing much happens show.
And it's just a few days before Thanksgiving.
It'll be an hour plus of stories, sound and seasonal magic, with a few surprises from us to help you slow down and savor this cozy time of year.
I hope you'll join us.
Follow the link in our show notes to get your ticket now.
And as always, for ad-free and bonus apps, click subscribe in Spotify or Apple or go to NothingMuchHappenscom.
This age-old technique of bedtime stories as bridges to sleep work by giving your brain a steady place to anchor.
After all, it's the wandering, racing mind that keeps you up.
A settled mind has nothing to do but let go.
So all you need to do is listen, and listen regularly.
It might take a bit of conditioning if you are new to this.
I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through.
If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to restart the episode.
Our story tonight is called The Guest Room.
And it's a story about making a space feel warm and welcoming.
It's also about fresh sheets and fluffy stacks of towels.
A pearly button and a jewelry box.
The clean feeling of a room that's been properly aired out.
A silly dog who sees every chore as a chance for play and showing love through thoughtful hospitality.
So lights out.
Devices down, please.
You have looked at a screen for the last time today.
Settle your body into the most comfortable position you can find.
And from temples to toes, consciously relax.
The day is done.
Draw a deep breath in through your nose and sigh it out.
Nice.
One more.
Inhale and release. the guest room.
The doorknob squeaked a bit as I turned it and I reminded myself to come back with some oil for it later.
We don't come in here often, and I expected that more than the knob would need some attention.
We might only have a guest once or twice a year, for the holidays or when someone comes for a visit.
But we all look forward to it.
As I pushed the door open, a scruffy, loaf-shaped bit of fur scrabbled past my ankles.
Crumb was the most excited of all of us to have visitors.
He would jump and bark, sit with them on the couch, roll over for belly rubs, beg them for treats in the kitchen and scratch at their door in the morning to say hello, all over again.
And he knew as soon as he heard the guest bedroom door open that someone must be on their way.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, a load of clean linens in my arms, and took stock of what needed to be done.
A good dusting for sure.
Sweep the floors, make up the bed and then a few touches to make our guests feel right at home.
I laid the sheets and pillowcases on the bed, and went to the window, nudging it open a few inches.
We were in the last weeks of fall, now almost on winter's doorstep, and it was certainly chilly out.
But the room needed a bit of fresh air and I had a feeling my work would keep me warm, wiped down the windowsills and doorframe, dusted the bedside tables and polished the mirror over the chest of drawers.
I checked that there were spare hangers ready in the closet and that the light bulbs in the lamps hadn't burned out.
The old floorboards were had gaps between them in some spots where the oakum had crumbled, so bobby pins and earrings tended to get stuck there.
I took care as I swept, stopping a few times to pick up a newly found treasure.
By the end I had a dainty pearl button, only as big around as the tip of my pinky finger, a blue pen cap, two dimes, a paper clip and a strip of torn newsprint that only held the tantalizing words Reward Offered For and the date April 1973.
I held the scrap in my hand, rereading it and wondering what had been lost and if it had ever been found.
I felt a bit like an archaeologist in the field and decided to keep the artifacts.
On the dresser was an old jewelry box, the kind I'd had as a child with the ballerina who sprang up onto her pointe shoes when you lifted the lid and I tucked my collection under its tray.
Crumb had spent most of the time I'd been dusting and sweeping, running in and out of the guest room, occasionally dropping his latest favorite toy at my feet and whining for me to throw it.
When I did, he would chase it all the way down the long corridor.
And a few times it went down the stairs, and I heard him clunking after it.
As I began to make the bed, I knew he'd make another appearance.
One bitter cold day, the January before, when the animals seemed miserable from the chill and the gray.
We'd put their blankets in the dryer and let them tumble till they were toasty and hot to the touch.
When we'd tossed them onto the bed, all three Marmalade, Crumb and Bertie made a beeline for them.
Marmalade lady that she was just quietly slid under hers purring as I tucked in the edges around her.
Bertie went for an instant flop, stretching out on his side and not getting up again till I called him for dinner.
Our goofy ball of boundless energy began zooming around the bed, diving into the blanket, wriggling through it, dropping his chest onto the warm fabric and scooting himself along it with his back legs.
He'd knocked it onto the floor, jumped down and pulled it under the bed, where he shook it like a toy.
When his dad tried to bring it back out and resituate him on the bed, he thought it was time for tug-of-war.
They'd all clearly loved this new experience so much.
We'd begun to do it pretty regularly.
We just called it Hot Blanket, and Crum knew the words as well as he knew walk, treat and at least a dozen others.
As I tucked the fitted sheet over the mattress in the guest room, he rushed in and jumped on the bed, thinking he might be missing out.
It's not Hot Blanket, Crum.
I told him, but he didn't believe me.
I shook out the top sheet.
It made a satisfying snap in the air, and it drifted down on top of him.
He dropped down onto his belly as I tucked in the corners.
This was another game we played. a dog's version of hide-and-seek.
I smoothed the sheet over him, saying, What's this potato doing in the bed?
Next came the duvet in a crisp cover, and still he didn't move.
Again.
I shaped it around his little body and shook the pillows into their covers, plumped them into place and turned down the bed so it looked cozy and inviting.
His nose was an inch away from the folded back sheet, and I leaned down next to it.
All at once, I whipped back the covers and booped him on the nose.
He flew from his hiding space. racing around the room with glee at being found.
I chuckled and remade the bed.
By now the room smelled of fresh, crisp air, and I shut the window and adjusted the blinds.
Looking around the space, I saw that it was clean and tidy, but needed a few finishing touches.
I'd gotten a couple pairs of house slippers for our guests and set them out on either side of the bed.
I oiled the doorknob, twisting it back and forth till the squeak was gone.
Our guests would be bringing their own dog, and I'd washed one of Crum's beds and set it under the window with a clean blanket and a new chew toy tucked inside.
I laid out fresh towels and washcloths in their bathroom, stocked the shower with soaps and shampoos and even folded the end of the toilet paper into a point, like they do in hotels, just to be silly.
When I came back into the bedroom with a vase of calla lilies I'd bought especially, I found marmalade sitting on the dresser inspecting my work.
I set the vase down beside her and arranged the blooms a bit.
How'd I do, boss?
I asked her.
And she twitched her whiskers in response. felt comfortable and lived in now.
And I hope, when our visitors arrived, that they would feel at home.
There are so many ways to show love, to demonstrate that you care.
As I shooed Marmy out and pulled the door closed behind me, I hoped that the fresh sheets and flowers, the slippers and soaps would show ours.
The guest room.
The doorknob squeaked a bit as I turned it and I reminded myself to come back with some oil for it later.
We don't come in here often, and I expected that more than the knob would need some attention.
We might only have a guest once or twice a year, for the holidays or when someone comes for a visit.
But we all looked forward to it.
As I pushed the door open, a scruffy, loaf-shaped bit of fur scrabbled past my ankles.
Rum was the most excited of all of us to have visitors.
He would jump and bark.
Sit with them on the couch, roll over for belly rubs, beg them for treats in the kitchen, scratch at their door in the morning to say hello, all over again.
And he knew as soon as he heard the guest bedroom door open that someone must be on their way.
I stood in the doorway for a moment, a load of clean linens in my arms, and took stock of what needed to be done.
A good dusting for sure.
Sweep the floors, make up the bed. and then a few touches to make our guests feel right at home.
I laid the sheets and pillowcases on the bed and went to the window, nudging it open a few inches.
We were in the last weeks of fall now, almost on winter's doorstep.
And it was certainly chilly out, but the room needed a bit of fresh air and I had a feeling that my work would keep me warm.
I wiped down the windowsills and doorframe, dusted the bedside tables and polished the mirror over the chest of drawers.
I checked that there were spare hangers ready in the closet and that the light bulbs in the lamps hadn't burned out.
The old floorboards had gaps between them in some spots where the oakum had crumbled.
So bobby pins and earrings tended to get stuck there.
I took care as I swept. stopping a few times to pick up newly found treasures.
By the end, I had a dainty pearl button, only as big around as the tip of my pinky finger.
A blue pen cap.
Two dimes and a strip of torn newsprint that only held the tantalizing words reward offered for and the date April 1973.
I held the scrap in my hand, re-reading it and wondering what had been lost and if it had ever been found.
I felt a bit like an archaeologist in the field, and decided to keep the artifacts.
On the dresser was an old jewelry box, the kind I'd had as a child with the ballerina who sprang up onto her pointe shoes when you lifted the lid and I tucked my collection under its tray.
Crumb had spent most of the time I'd been dusting and sweeping, running in and out of the guest room, occasionally dropping his latest favorite toy at my feet and whining for me to throw it.
When I did, he would chase it all the way down the long corridor.
And a few times, It went down the stairs, and I heard him clunking after it.
When I began to make the bed, I knew he'd make another appearance.
One bitter cold day, the January before, when the animals seemed miserable from the chill and the gray.
We'd put their blankets in the dryer and let them tumble till they were toasty and hot to the touch.
When we'd tossed them onto the bed, all three Marmalade, Crumb and Birdie made a beeline for them.
Marmalade, lady that she was, just slid under her, purring as I tucked in the edges around her.
Bertie went for an instant flop, stretching out on his side and not getting up again.
I called him for dinner.
Crumb, our goofy ball of boundless energy, began zooming around on the bed, diving into the blanket, wriggling through it, dropping his chest onto the warm fabric and scooting himself along it with his back legs.
He'd knocked it onto the floor, jumped down and pulled it under the bed, where he shook it like a toy.
When his dad tried to bring it back out, and resituate him on the bed.
He thought it was time for tug of war.
They'd all clearly loved this experience so much.
We'd begun to do it pretty regularly.
We just called it Hot Blanket, and Crumb knew those words as well as he knew Walk Treat and at least a dozen others.
As I tucked the fitted sheet over the mattress in the guest room, he rushed in and jumped on the bed, thinking that he might be missing out.
It's not hot blanket crumb, I told him.
But he didn't believe me.
I shook out the top sheet.
It made a satisfying snap in the air.
And it drifted down on top of him.
He dropped down onto his belly as I tucked in the corners.
This was another game we played, a dog's version of hide and seek.
I smoothed the sheet over him, saying, what's this potato doing in the bed?
Next came the duvet and its crisp cover, and still he didn't move.
Again I shaped it around his little body and shook the pillows into the covers.
I plumped them into place and turned down the bed. so it looked cozy and inviting.
His nose was an inch away from the folded back sheet, and I leaned down next to it.
All at once, I whipped back the covers and booped him on the nose.
He flew from his hiding place, racing around the room with glee at being found.
I chuckled and remade the bed.
By now, the room smelled of fresh, crisp air, and I shut the window. and adjusted the blinds.
Looking around the space, I saw that it was clean and tidy, but it needed a few finishing touches.
I'd gotten a couple of pairs of house slippers for our guests and set them out on either side of the bed.
I oiled the doorknob, twisting it back and forth till the squeak was gone.
Our guests would be bringing their own dog.
And I'd washed one of Crum's beds and set it under the window with a clean blanket and a new chew toy tucked in beside it.
I laid out fresh towels and washcloths in their bathroom, stocked the shower with soaps and shampoos and even folded the end of the toilet paper into a point, like they do in hotels, just to be silly.
When I came back into the bedroom with a vase of calla lilies I'd bought for them especially I found a marmalade sitting on the dresser inspecting my work.
I set the vase down beside her and arranged the blooms a bit.
How'd I do, boss?
I asked her, and she twitched her whiskers in response.
The room felt comfortable and lived in now and I hoped When our visitors arrived they would feel at home.
There are so many ways to show love, to demonstrate that you care.
As I shooed Marmee out and pulled the door closed behind me, I hoped that the fresh sheets and flowers
The slippers and soaps would show ours.
Sweet dreams.
