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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.
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They extend their arms to those who have been abandoned, mistreated and forgotten, providing them with a safe haven where they can find solace and healing.
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It's happening next month.
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Now, I have a story for you.
It's a place to rest your mind, full of quiet details and a little short on action.
All you need to do is listen.
I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through.
This is brain training.
Give it some time to work.
Be patient.
Our story tonight is called Rosewater and Witch Hazel, and it's a story about reclaiming your sparkle on a moonlit night.
It's also about a gray cat on a friendly neighborhood shop for needful things flower petals and vanilla pods, brown paper and an ink pad and taking time to pamper yourself just as you deserve.
So lights out, campers.
Set everything down.
Be done with today.
It was what it was.
And now we are here.
Take a slow, deep breath in through your nose.
Let it out from your mouth.
Do it again.
Breathe in.
Let it go good.
Rosewater and Witch Hazel.
I stood at the counter of the curious shop as moonlight shone through the window and the fire crackled and popped in the grate.
Cinder, the silky gray cat, sat on the counter beside me.
Listening intently, as I described what I was looking for.
She wasn't the only one listening, of course.
The shopkeeper, the gentle head of our circle of kind-hearted witches, was pulling bottles and packets from shelves as I spoke.
I've just lost a bit of my spark, I said.
She looked over. detecting that I was holding something back.
There's no getting around her intuition.
Okay, it's bigger than that, I admitted.
It's my confidence.
Lately, my spells fall flat.
My dreams at night are reruns.
I used to walk into rooms with my head held high.
Now I'm shuffling around just trying to remember what I walked in for in the first place.
It's like everyone else is in technicolor, and I'm just a pale shade of gray.
Cinder bristled at that, her own gray fur sending up a few cranky sparks into the air.
Pardon me, Cinder.
It was a simile, and not a fair one.
You are absolutely gorgeous.
As are you, said the witch, as she began to wrap the goods she'd gathered.
You just need to remind yourself.
Here are a few things to change.
Not how you look, but how you look at yourself.
A little glamour magic will do the trick.
As she wrapped my purchases in brown paper and ribbon, she explained that this was self-care as spellwork, a way to use loving action to remind myself that I matter and that I deserve to be well cared for and even pampered.
She pressed a stamp into an ink pad, and then onto the paper.
It left a mark of their logo a book with ribbons marking the pages and a cat sitting on a shelf.
She slid the parcel across the counter and the inked cat in the logo swished its tail and winked at me.
I chuckled, thanked her, and carried my treasures home for an evening of glamour and care.
As I unpacked it, at my kitchen table I found a bottle of rose water and pulled the stopper out of it to smell the sweet scent.
I knew it had a hundred uses, and was glad she'd given me a rather large bottle.
Next, there was a box of handcrafted tea.
The label simply read Glow, and it recommended that it be steeped for three minutes exactly and drunk for increased radiance.
I set it on a shelf beside my teacup for later.
Next, from the package I took out a candle and a jar that smelled of lavender, a bottle of witch hazel that had a cartoon witch named Hazel on the tag, and an oil that shimmered like gold.
The last thing out was a simmer pot packet, which I immediately took over to the stove to get started.
From my cupboard, I pulled my largest soup pot and filled it with water at the tap.
Then I clicked on the gas and set it to warm.
The packet had long spirals of dried orange rind, rose petals, sticky vanilla pods that had been split and were full of tiny fragrant seeds and a few cinnamon sticks.
I tipped them into the pot as it began to steam and stood for a few moments watching the vapor rise up to make shapes in the air hearts and stars and a long, jagged line of lightning.
That struck me with a sudden feeling of power and assuredness.
I breathed it in.
I'd been a part of the village circle of witches for a few seasons now, and one of the most magical things I'd learned to do was breathe slow and deep and feel it moving in my body.
I left the shapes of steam drifting through the kitchen and carried my other treasures to my bedroom vanity and set them out.
I had a grandmother who had kept a vanity as if it were an altar.
The mirror was spotless.
The tabletop was spread with a pretty embroidered cloth that she changed weekly and all her cosmetics and lotions were in fine glass jars.
She had an atomizer with a long stem and a tasseled bulb at its end.
And she used a powder puff on a pearly handle.
Even her rings and necklaces were stored in a velvet-lined box that looked to my young eyes like the kind a queen would have in her dressing room.
The message it sent was that she deserved intentional, special and yes, deliberately glamorous care.
I'd gotten away from that kind a while back.
I took a moment now to tidy up my space.
I cleared off the tabletop, tossing out scraps of paper and clothes tags that hadn't made it to the wastebasket.
Then I wiped the surface of dust and set out the bottles.
While I wasn't as interested in lace and powder puffs as Gran had been, my vanity was still decorated just in my own style.
There was a photo strip from a booth in the park tucked into the frame of the mirror.
Funny faces and a stolen kiss.
I had a small dish for my rings that I'd made in a pottery class and a bud vase where I kept a fresh flower at all times.
Right now, it was a stem of moonflower that bloomed in the dark.
I remembered the instructions I'd been given at the shop.
Slow down and notice how each thing smells and feels.
Play music that makes you feel good.
Wash away the old energy and replace it with a clearer vision of your own worth and beauty.
And even though I still had lots to learn about magic, this sounded easy enough.
I lit the candle and pulled up a playlist of favorite songs that made me feel like dancing and went to wash my face.
Warm water, suds, and a slow massage at my temples and jaw.
It was starting to work.
I was beginning to genuinely enjoy this process.
Back at my vanity, I swabbed my skin with the witch hazel, which I'd been told was clarifying.
Clear thoughts, I said aloud.
Then I splashed the rose water onto my hands and pressed it into my cheeks and forehead.
As I patted the hydrating liquid in with my fingertips, feeling it absorb, I pressed in confidence as well.
I am brave.
I am beautiful.
I am enough, I said.
Finally, I squeezed a few drops of the shimmering oil fortified with blue tansy onto my palms, smoothed it over my face.
I sprinkled a bit more rose water onto my hairbrush and brushed my locks out with long patient strokes.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
My skin and eyes were glowing, my hair shining, I could smell roses and tansy.
I walked to the window and pushed it up, leaned on the sill, out into the night air.
An owl hooted in the darkness, calling out, Who?
Who?
I heard my own voice answer, soft but certain.
Me.
Rosewater and Witch Hazel.
I stood at the counter of the Curio's shop as moonlight shone through the window and the fire crackled and popped in the grate.
Cinder, the silky gray cat, sat on the counter beside me, listening intently as I described what I was looking for.
She wasn't the only one listening, of course.
The shopkeeper, the gentle head of our circle of kind-hearted witches, was pulling bottles and packets from shelves as I spoke.
I've just lost a bit of my spark, I said.
She looked over her shoulder at me, detecting that I was holding something back.
There's no getting around her intuition.
Okay, it's bigger than that, I admitted.
It's my confidence.
Lately, my spells fall flat.
My dreams at night are reruns.
I used to walk into rooms with my head held high.
Now I'm shuffling around, just trying to remember what I walked in for in the first place.
It's like everyone else is in technicolor. and I'm just a pale shade of gray.
Cinder bristled at that, her own gray fur sending up a few cranky sparks into the air.
Oh, pardon me, Cinder.
It was a simile, and not a fair one.
You are absolutely gorgeous.
As are you, said the witch, as she began to wrap the goods she'd gathered.
You just need to remind yourself.
Here are a few things to change, not how you look, but how you look at yourself.
A little glamour magic will do the trick.
As she wrapped my purchases in brown paper and ribbon, she explained that this was self-care as spellwork, a way to use loving action to remind myself that I matter and that I deserve to be well cared for and even pampered.
She pressed a stamp into an ink pad and then onto the paper.
I'd left a mark of their logo, a book with ribbons marking the pages, and a cat sitting on a shelf.
She slid the parcel across the counter and the inked cat in the logo swished its tail and winked at me chuckled, thanked her and carried my treasures home for an evening of glamour and care.
As I unpacked the parcel, on my kitchen table I found a bottle of rose water and pulled the stopper out of it to smell the sweet scent.
I knew it had a hundred uses, and was glad she'd given me a rather large bottle.
Next, there was a box of handcrafted tea.
The label simply read GLOW, and it recommended that it be steeped for three minutes exactly and drunk for increased radiance.
I set it on the shelf beside my teacup for later.
Next, from the package I took out a candle in a jar that smelled of lavender, a bottle of witch hazel that had a cartoon witch named Hazel on the tag, and an oil that shimmered like gold.
The last thing out was a simmer pot packet, which I immediately took over to the stove to get started.
From the cupboard, I pulled my largest soup pot and filled it with water at the tap.
Then I clicked on the gas and set it to warm.
The packet had long spirals of dried orange rind, rose petals, sticky vanilla pods that had been split and were full of tiny fragrant seeds and a few cinnamon sticks.
I tipped them into the pot as it began to steam and stood for a few moments watching the vapor rise and make shapes in the air.
Hearts and stars and a long, jagged line of lightning that struck me with a sudden feeling of power and assuredness.
I breathed it in.
I'd been a part of the village circle of witches for a few seasons now.
And one of the most magical things I'd learned to do was breathe.
Slow and deep.
I feel it moving in my body.
I left the shapes of steam drifting through the kitchen and carried my other treasures to my bedroom vanity and set them out.
I had a grandmother who kept a vanity as if it were an altar.
The mirror was spotless.
The tabletop, spread with a pretty embroidered cloth that she changed weekly, and all her cosmetics and lotions were in fine glass jars.
She had an atomizer with a long stem and tasseled bulb at its end, and she used a powder puff on a pearly handle.
Even her rings and necklaces were stored in a velvet-lined box that looked to my eyes like the kind a queen would have in her dressing room.
The message it sent was that the care she deserved was intentional, special and yes, deliberately glamorous.
I'd gotten away from that kind of care a while back.
It took a moment now to tidy up my space.
I cleared off the tabletop, tossing out scraps of paper and clothes tags that hadn't made it into the wastebasket.
Then I wiped the surface of dust and set out the bottles.
While I wasn't as interested in lace and powder puffs as Gran had been, my vanity was still decorated just in my own style.
There was a photo strip from the booth in the park tucked into the frame of the mirror.
Funny faces and a stolen kiss.
I had a small dish for my rings that I'd made in a pottery class.
And a bud vase with a fresh flower in it at all times.
Right now, it was a stem of moonflower that bloomed in the dark.
I thought back to the instructions I'd been given at the shop.
Slow down and notice how each thing smells and feels.
Play music that makes you feel good.
Wash away the old energy. and replace it with a clearer vision of your own worth and beauty.
And even though I still had lots to learn about magic, it sounded easy enough.
I lit the candle and pulled up a playlist of favorite songs that made me feel like dancing and went to wash my face.
Warm water, suds, and a slow massage at my temples and jaw.
It was working already.
I was starting to genuinely enjoy this process. back at my vanity.
I swabbed my skin with the witch hazel, which I'd been told was clarifying.
Clear thoughts, I said aloud.
Then I splashed the rose water into my hands and pressed it into my cheeks and forehead as I tapped the hydrating liquid in with my fingertips, feeling it absorb, I also pressed in confidence.
I am brave.
I am beautiful.
I am enough, I said.
Finally, I squeezed a few drops of the shimmering oil fortified with blue tansy onto my palms, smoothed it over my face.
I sprinkled a bit more rose water onto my hairbrush and brushed my locks out with long patient strokes.
I looked at myself in the mirror.
My skin and eyes were glowing, my hair shining.
I could smell roses and tansy.
I walked to the window, pushed it up, leaned on the sill, and out into the night air.
An owl hooted in the darkness, calling out, Who?
Who?
I heard my own voice answer, soft but certain.
Me.
Sweet dreams.
