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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 J -A -S -P -R dot 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 Greyhound Pets, Inc.
They work to find responsible, loving homes for greyhounds.
to acquaint the public with the desirability of greyhounds as pets and to help them adopt.
You can learn more about them in our show notes.
For an ad -free and bonus -filled version of this show and to support the work we do, all for just a dime a day, we hope you'll consider becoming a premium subscriber.
subscriber. There's a link in our notes, and Spotify and Apple users can click the handy Join button right on our show page.
The first month is on us.
Knowing a bit about how this works can help it work even better.
So know that by listening to the steady sound of my voice, by attending, even with just a small part of your brain, to the shape of the story, we are giving your brain a job to do, and that keeps it from wandering and lets you drift off.
I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little bit slower the second can time through.
If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to turn an episode back on.
Over time, you'll find yourself falling asleep within seconds.
Our story tonight is called The Last Train Home, and it's a story about a few moments at the end of a long day.
It's also about dogwood flowers and sodium lights, a seat on a bench, the long summer twilight, a yawn that resets your system, and some soft, quiet time settled in with your fellow passengers.
It's time. time. Turn out your light.
Set down anything you've been looking at or working on.
Feel how good it is to be in bed, to be at the end of your day.
You are safe. You have done enough for the the day, and nothing remains but rest. Draw a deep breath in through your nose, and sigh from your mouth.
Again, breathe in and release it.
Good. The last train home.
It had been And then a long day.
And it felt good to be nearly at the end of it.
The bag slung over my shoulder felt a little heavier than it had when I set out this morning.
Though it was actually lighter, since my lunch pail was empty now.
and my water bottle only had a few sips left in it.
The air was cooling off as the sun slid further down the western sky.
On the way into the station, I noticed the dogwoods in full bloom.
Their star -shaped white flowers were just starting to drop petals.
And when the breeze blew, a few showered down on the sidewalk below.
I took the steps up and into the station.
There were just a few others.
And all of us carried the same energy.
that end of the day quietude the morning zip converted into a lived -in rhythm that had us ambling rather than rushing to the platforms I found a bench near the tracks and set my bag down beside me A long sigh left my lungs, and I clasped my hands in my lap, looking out past the platforms and into the field beyond.
Whippoorwills gathered on a distant rooftop, and their calls echoed in the evening air.
air. On a bench further down the platform, a man sat with a boy dressed in soccer gear, a ball on his lap.
The boy leaned against his dad, who shifted to put one arm around him.
He murmured some small joke that made the boy smile, and the smile turned into a long yawn.
His eyelids drooped as he tipped his head onto his dad's shoulder.
His yawn became my own, and I stretched my arms overhead, flipping my palms inside out and feeling my joints creak and pop.
Pandiculation, I thought to myself as I rolled my shoulders and settled back in to wait for my train.
I'd looked it up a week or two before that kind of long and often involuntary stretch that makes you yawn and shiver and sometimes twist your face into funny shapes I'd learned it had a name pandiculation and a purpose purpose, that it eases tension and helps your mind and body to sink back up after a period of inactivity, which is why it hits us most in the mornings.
It was also one of those those things that our bodies did to help us close out stress cycles and return to neutral.
Our bodies did a lot to protect us each day, and learning about pandiculation made me even more grateful to mind.
In the distance, the train whistle blew when I looked down the tracks to see the headlight of the front car rounding a bend.
Vibrations rumbled up through the pavement and into the soles of my shoes.
I sat, waiting a moment before I stood to board. even though taking the train was a regular part of my day I still felt a little thrill when the rush of air passed over me and the cars came to a stop there was a soft hiss as the doors unlocked locked and slid back.
I stood and reached for my bag and climbed aboard. The train was nearly empty, just me, a few other commuters, and the soccer star and his dad.
I settled into a window seat and propped my chin in my hand.
The doors closed and I felt the train rock backward and then forward as we set off.
The tracks ran along a row of shops and cafes phase.
And as we picked up speed, I saw people shopping, talking on street corners, and eating at outdoor tables.
There must have been a group bike ride happening.
A dozen or more more cyclists were riding with lighted helmets and flags on their baskets.
Twilight was so long this time of year, not like in winter, when day turns to night like a light switched off.
There were angles that accounted for such things.
But I'd also read that in summer, the warmer air holds more particles, more moisture.
And they scatter the remaining light.
So that summer evenings feel brighter and more colorful.
I thought it made sense.
In the summer, I, too, wanted to stay up later.
I smiled at the angled reflection of my face in the glass I was looking out at the world through the faint image of myself and I remembered that that was nearly always the case even when it wasn't so literally true as in this moment We see the diners at the cafe, the shoppers in the window, our fellow travellers, all of them, refracted just a little through our own hopes and history.
I leaned back in my seat as we passed through a short tunnel.
I closed my eyes and felt the brief flash of each passing light on my face.
The tracks curved and I let the momentum rock me in my seat.
My stop was coming up.
I was so used to this stretch of road that my body knew it before my mind did and I found myself taking a few deep breaths and reaching for my bag before the train began to slow almost home, I thought as the station came into sight night.
I nodded to the soccer player and his dad as I stepped off the train, hoping they only had one more stop to go.
I passed through the station and came out onto the street in the purple light of dusk.
A patch of lilies grew in the flowerbed at the corner, and their scents stood out in the night air, so sweet I imagined every honeybee within five miles miles, was in love with them.
A row of street lamps turned on overhead as I made my way up the block toward home.
The faint buzz and orange glow of their sodium light made warm warm pockets on the sidewalk.
From inside the houses on either side of the street I heard the laugh tracks of TV shows, the chorus of music and the low voices of conversation.
A calico cat watched me from the top of a porch pier her tail wrapped around her ample body the lights were on in my house and I smiled in the dark I hoped there might be a plate in the oven for me and a place waiting at the table another day was done done, and I was home.
The last train home.
It had been a long day, and it felt good to be nearly at the end of it.
The bag slung over my shoulder, felt a little heavier than it had when I set out this morning, though it was actually lighter since my lunch pail was empty now, and my water bottle only had a few sips left in it.
The air was cooling cooling off as the sun slid further down the western sky.
On the way into the station, I noticed the dogwoods in full bloom.
Their star -shaped white flowers were just starting to drop petals.
And when the breeze blew, a few showered down onto the sidewalk below.
I took the steps up, and into the station.
There were just a few others, and all of us carried the same energy.
that end -of -the -day quietude, the morning zip converted into a lived -in rhythm that had us ambling rather than rushing to the platforms. I found a bench near the tracks and set my bag down beside me.
A long sigh left my lungs when I clasped my hands in my lap, looking out past the platforms. and into the field beyond.
Whipper wills gathered on a distant rooftop and their calls echoed in the evening air.
On a bench further down the platform form.
A man sat with a boy dressed in soccer gear, a ball balanced on his lap.
The boy boy leaned against his dad who shifted to put one arm around him.
He murmured some small The small joke that made the boy smile, and the smile turned into a long yawn.
His eyelids drooped as he tipped his head back onto his dad's shoulder.
His yawn became my own.
And I stretched my arms overhead, flipping my palms inside out and feeling my joints creak and pop.
Pandiculation, I thought to myself as I rolled my shoulders and settled back in to wait for my train.
I'd looked it up a week or two before and That kind of long and often involuntary stretch that makes you yawn and shiver and sometimes twist your face into funny shapes.
I'd learned it had a name, pandiculation, and a purpose.
that it eases tension and helps your mind and body sink back up after a period of inactivity, which is why it hit us most in the mornings.
it was also one of those things that our bodies did to help us close out stress cycles and return us to neutral our bodies did a lot to protect us each day and learning about without pendiculation made me even more grateful to mine.
In the distance, the train whistle blew, and I looked down the tracks to see the headlight of the front car rounding a bend.
vibrations rumbled up through the pavement and into the soles of my shoes.
I sat, waiting a moment longer to stand and board. Even though taking the train was a regular part of my day, I still felt a little thrill when the rush of air passed over me and the cars came to a stop.
There was a soft hiss as the doors unlocked and slid back.
I stood and reached for my bag and climbed aboard. The train was nearly empty.
Just me, a few other commuters, and the soccer star, and his dad.
I settled into a window seat and propped my chin in my hand.
the doors closed and I felt the train rock backward and then forward as we set off the tracks ran along a row of shops and cafes and as we picked up speed speed, I saw people shopping, talking on street corners, and eating at outdoor tables.
There must have been a group bike ride happening.
A dozen or more cyclists were riding together together with lighted helmets and flags on their baskets.
Twilight was so long this time of year, not like in winter, when day went to night like a light switched off.
There were angles that accounted for such things, but I'd also read that in summer, the warmer air holds more particles, more moisture, and they scatter the remaining light, so that summer evenings feel brighter and more colorful.
I thought it made sense.
in the summer I too wanted to stay up later I smiled at the angled reflection of my face in the glass I was looking out at the world through the faint image of myself And I remembered that that was nearly always the case, even when it wasn't so literally true as in this moment.
We see the diners at the cafe, the shoppers in the windows.
our fellow travelers, all of them refracted just a little through our own hopes and history.
I leaned back in my seat as we passed through a short tunnel.
I closed my eyes, and felt the brief flash of each passing light on my face.
The tracks curved when I let the momentum rock me in my seat.
my stop was coming up I was so used to this stretch of road that my body knew it before my mind did and I found myself taking a few deep breaths and reaching for my bag before the train began to slow.
Almost home, I thought, as the station came into sight.
I nodded to the soccer player and his dad as I stepped off the train, hoping they only had one more stop to go.
I passed through the station and came out onto the street in the purple light of dusk.
A patch of lilies grew in a flower bed at the corner and their scent stood out in the night air so sweet I imagined every honeybee within five miles was in love with them a row of street lamps turned on overhead as I made my way up the block toward home.
The faint buzz and orange glow of their sodium light made warm pockets on the sidewalk.
From inside the houses on either side of the street, I heard the laugh tracks tracks of TV shows, the chorus of music, the low voices of conversation.
A calico cat watched She watched me from the top of a porch pier, her tail wrapped around her ample body.
The lights were on in my house, and I smiled in the dark.
I hoped there might be a plate in the oven for me on a place waiting at the table another day was done and I was home sweet dreams
