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- [00:01]
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Get Sleepy is a production of Slumber Studios. To listen ad free, access our entire catalogue of episodes and support the show directly. Check out our premium feed by going to getsleepy.com support. Now a quick word from our sponsors.
- [00:22]
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- [00:45]
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26 I oh, let's go. I O let's go.
- [00:51]
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- [01:23]
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Welcome to Get Sleepy, where we listen, we relax, and we get sleepy. My name is Thomas and it's so wonderful to have your company. This evening's story is one that our lovely listeners in the Southern hemisphere may particularly appreciate as it's wintertime over there right now. But even us folk in the middle of summer in the Northern hemisphere may enjoy the chance to contemplate the colder temperatures. Maybe those visualizations will help you to stay cool as you drift off to sleep. Not everyone is a fan of winter, but for those who love its quiet pleasures, it can be a special time of rest and renewal. Tonight we'll head up into the foothills and wait out a winter storm at a charming mountain cabin. With your pyjamas, your favourite book, and all the necessary comforts, you'll be prepared for a restful getaway. Thank you to Alicia Stefan for writing this lovely tale, which I have the pleasure of reading for you. So I hope you're doing okay, feeling healthy and well, relaxed and restful. And I hope you know that you're supported and cared for here. You've come to the right place for a good night's sleep, so let's enjoy a moment of mindfulness to help us prepare. As you lie comfortably in your bed, close your eyes if you're yet to do so, and bring your attention to your body, Take some time to just slowly scan up and down. Become aware of the sensations that arise along the way. Notice your breath wherever you feel it, perhaps in the rise and fall of your chest as you breathe in and out. Now, rest your hands gently on your stomach and allow your attention to linger in this space. Bring your awareness to the point of contact between your palms and stomach. You might notice the breath moving through your body, lifting and lowering your hands as they rest on your stomach. Enjoy the comfort and peace of this moment. Relish the feeling of your own natural breath. Now, with a clearer, more restful mind and body, imagine the tranquility of late afternoon on a country byway. You've left your cares behind and will soon reach your weekend destination. This is where our story begins. By the time you turn off the main road, the snow has arrived. For days now, there has been a storm in the forecast. The schools have announced that there will be snow days. Offices are allowing their employees to prepare to work from home. The grocery stores are jammed with people buying bread and milk. Earlier, when you stopped in to stock up on your own favourites, there was an air of barely contained excitement. You reflected on how oddly festive it could be to welcome winter weather. Everyone is ready to hunker down for the weekend, but you thought to yourself, what about getting cozy somewhere more tranquil? You happen to have a friend who owns a cabin in the foothills. They've been out of town, so you knew they wouldn't be using it. You asked if you might spend a long weekend up there and they gladly approved your request. In fact, they said it would be great to have someone looking after the place. With ice and snow approaching, so the prospect of the snowstorm went from being mildly exciting to particularly enjoyable. You put together some supplies, packed up your four wheel drive car and as they say, you headed for the hills. The earliest flakes were flying through the air as you made your way out of the suburbs. Now that you are deep in the winding roods of the forest, the world has become a snow globe. The route unwinds before you, climbing ever so gently into higher altitudes. Occasionally you pass another car, but you have the sense that many people have already made their way home and battened down the hatches. Luckily, you'll soon be able to do the same. Your friend's snug little cabin is not far away. Now your streaming music loses its signal, leaving you in a peaceful bubble. Inside the car, the only sound is that of the engine humming gently beneath you. Warm air blows from the vents, keeping you comfortable. The light has begun seeping from the sky outside, but the whiteness of the snow, which is already coating the trees and the grass makes the world feel oddly bright. You smile to yourself as you catch a glimpse of a bunny hopping by the side of the road. It vanishes into the underbrush. Then, up ahead, you see a familiar row of mailboxes. Each of them belongs to someone who has a house off the main road. You slow down and take the turn carefully. Instantly, the silence of the asphalt road gives way to a low rumble. The last leg of this drive will be over dirt and gravel. You feel a tiny rush of happy anticipation at the sound. It always means you've escaped civilization for a while and that a few peaceful days are ahead. The trees here are very old. Their bare limbs meet high above the ground, creating a welcoming tunnel for your car. In the summer, it always feels like a protective canopy. Now, with the foliage gone, it's more like a piece of nature's lattice. On a sunny day, you might spot little triangles of blue sky through those branches, but at the moment, the twilight and the snow obscure the color of the heavens. And then you have arrived. A wooden sign on the side of the road displays your friend's last name, so you take a confident turn. The car's arrival causes a light on the side of the house to illuminate, which is a great help to you. As you park the car, you turn off the engine and sit for just a moment, listening to the profound stillness all around you. Then, eager to be finished with your journey, you open the car door and step out into the falling snow. After the warmth inside the vehicle, the air is bracing. Immediately you feel tiny wet tingles on your face, and you can see snowflakes at the ends of your eyelashes. Like a child, you stick out your tongue to catch one. Then you fetch your weekend luggage and your tote bag of groceries from the trunk. You're careful not to be too loud. It seems wrong, somehow, to make waves of sound in this ocean of calm. You are here to lose yourself for a little while. You don't want to change anything. As you follow the walkway to the front entrance, the pathway lights sense your motion and greet you brightly. 1, 2, 3. They stand to attention as if they've been expecting you. You type the code into the lock on the door, feeling relief when it works the first time. So far. Everything is going your way, you think to yourself. You step inside and firmly close the door behind you. Reaching for the light switch, you flick it on and wipe your feet thoroughly on the front mat so as not to bring in any snow from outside. As you do. You think about how this is the perfection of a cabin in the winter to have charming snowy scenery on the outside and warm, toasty comfort within. It's one of your favourite feelings. Having gotten the snow off of your feet, you step onto the old stone floor of the entryway and make the short trip to a nearby bench. You sit down and remove your shoes. Then you reach into the top of your bag and retrieve your soft slippers, sliding them onto your feet. You feel like you have shaken off the last vestiges of the day. The act of donning your slippers tells you that you are home. You smile to yourself and stand up, taking your bag with you. This cabin is old. It's been in your friend's family for generations. The wood finishes have aged comfortably, and the furniture shows just enough signs of wear to prove its worth. Taking a turn into the hallway that houses the bedrooms, you switch on the light to the largest one. A stack of sheets sits neatly folded on top of the mattress of the king sized bed. Plump pillows await their cases at the top. At the bottom of the bed there is an old patchwork quilt and a folded woolen blanket. You set down your bag and lean over the mattress to pick up the pile of neatly folded. Atop them there is a note that says, put in the dryer for five minutes. You laugh quietly, appreciating the forethought of the last guest. The sheets are clean, of course, but they will be heavenly if they come straight out of the dryer as well. Picking up the linens, you walk into the nearby bathroom, where a small stacked washer and dryer are tucked into the corner. You open the dryer and shake out each sheet, tossing them inside. Then you set the dial to five minutes, push the button and return to the bedroom to unpack your things. Opening the bag, you remove your toiletries and set them on the long oak dresser. One by one, you unpack your soft sweater, your comfortable jeans, your warm woolly socks and your pyjamas. You place them all carefully in the dresser drawers, which are empty but for a comforting scent of cedar. By the time you are done with this, the dryer has sounded, the cycle is finished. You take your toiletries and return to the bathroom. The vanity in there has the perfect spot to spread out all your things. Having done this, you open the dryer and pull out the billowing toasty sheets, inhaling deeply and hugging them just a little. What a simple delight it is, you think, to have warm, dry sheets. Back in the main bedroom. You shake the sheets across the mattress and take your time walking around the bed, tucking in each corner and making it tight as a drum. You spend more time on this bed than you do on your own at home. Your parents would be proud, you think as you fold the little triangles and tuck them in. Then you add a large woolen blanket for extra warmth on top. For the grand finale, you unfold and stretch out the quilt. You know it was made by your friend's grandmother. This heirloom coverlet has the charming discombobulation of a piece that was made with every possible scrap, wasting nothing. Pink, blue, green, yellow and red are all somewhere amidst its patterns. This quilt was made with love and not for show. But it's all the more beautiful and oh so soft from use over the years. The last thing you do before leaving the room is place your book on the bedside table. You leave it there quite deliberately, relishing the moment later in the evening when you'll return and slip into your clean, warm bed, ready to read a few more of its pages. Next, you walk back down the hallway. The floors here are old wood planks. Your feet sink luxuriously into your slippers with each step, but the boards are as solid as can be. They do not creak. They are settled and time tested. In the entryway, you retrieve your bag of groceries. The next task is to get your relaxation space ready to enjoy. You flick on the light to the dining and living area. Nowadays they would call this open plan, but for the people who first built it, this part of the house was just plain practical. A smallish kitchen features a pass through counter into a room with a dining table for six people. Right next to that is a pair of old leather sofas, which are arranged around a rustic coffee table. On the other side of the table is a huge fireplace. You set down the groceries on the counter and then walk over to the fireplace. Years ago you'd have had to build a fire, which would have been a bit intimidating. But your friend's family is very practical. You know they recently converted the fireplace to gas. You flip the switch and grin with delight as the fireplace is instantly illuminated with welcoming flames. Like liquid gold, their light flows into the room, casting a magical tint over the seating area. Even the darker corners seem cozy rather than obscure. Enveloped in the warming effect of the fireplace, you feel yourself relaxing, letting go of tension that you didn't even realize you were holding. You have soon placed all of your supplies in the cupboards and the refrigerator. These include a simple takeaway meal that you can reheat for dinner, as well as your favorite tea and coffee. There's even a sweet treat for dessert. But now that everything is in its place, you want to enjoy the snow just a little bit before closing up entirely for the night. You return to the front hallway and slip on your shoes and coat. You flick on the outside light and then tentatively open the door and step outside onto the porch. It really is coming down now. Heavy, thick snowflakes fly through the pool of golden illumination on the porch. They are going by at a gentle slant, pushed by a light wind. Even since you entered the house, the snow has covered the shallow tracks you made on your way in. It has coated every surface on the porch, including the nearby adironak chairs and the little table between them. You stretch out your foot and draw an arc on the ground. Then you watch, mesmerized, as the snowflakes immediately drop into the shape you've made, determined to fill it back up. The storm is a good natured opponent, you think. It doesn't mind that you're here, but it insists that you do not leave a mark. This night belongs to nature, you know. You will have your fun in the snow tomorrow. You get a little thrill as you ponder a steaming mug and a bright, sparkly day. Tomorrow will be filled with sugary drifts and crunching paths underfoot, But that will all come in good time. First, you will hibernate for a little while. The night is beautiful, but the heaviness and dampness of the snow begin to build around you. A gust of wind warns you that the storm is picking up. You re enter the house, gratefully tucking yourself inside and locking the door. Then you gingerly remove your coat, stamp the snow off your feet onto the mat, and switch back to your slippers. Last of all, with one final look out of the window, you switch off the porch light. You'll look again in the morning and see a whole new ethereal world. Scuffing lightly across the stone hallway, you return to the living room. It is warm and dancing with light from the fire. Dropping heavily onto the couch, you ponder your options. Then you remember something. You reach under the table and open a hidden drawer. Just as you'd hoped, there is a pack of cards inside. Scooting to the edge of the couch, you set up a game of solitaire. You can't remember when you last played this with actual physical cards. As you stack and flip the rectangles neatly, you notice how heavy and real they seem when you lay them down and turn them over. You examine the pictures as you Never have before noting the small differences among the queens or the jacks. Someone put a lot of thought into these cards at one time, but you doubt many people slowed down to notice their intricacies. This tactile, low tech version of solitaire is so much more soothing than clicking cards on a screen. You take pleasure in lining up the rows in descending order. Red, black, red, black, king, queen, and then the jack, over and over, until the game comes to an impasse. You shuffle the cards and begin again. It is meditative. The noise in your mind fades away as you flip and stack your way through this game where you are the only peaceful player. You're not sure how long you are playing for, but eventually your stomach tells you it is time for dinner. Carefully fitting the cards into their packet, you slide it back into the drawer, which disappears under the table. Once again, you're beginning to feel quite warm and drowsy. Stretching luxuriously, you slowly walk to the kitchen and pull out your dinner from the fridge. As you warm it in the microwave, the wind rattles the window over the sink. You try to look outside, but the darkness is Prof. No. Neighbouring houses are close enough to shine their lights in your window and there are no street lights. If it were a clear night, the stars would be glorious. But this evening you shelter securely under a sky thick with snow. When your food is ready, you fill a tall glass with water and take your meal to the dining table. The last visitors left a hand finished puzzle at one end and you sit nearby. As you eat, you turn your head this way and that, unable to resist the temptation to put a few pieces in their spots. This is a tradition at the house that goes back as long as you can remember. Puzzles are constantly being started and finished by different people. No rush, no pressure. Come one, come all. It's such a lovely way to be a part of something bigger than one. You wash up your place setting and refill your water glass. You find that you are pleasantly full from dinner and inclined to save your dessert for the next day. Switching off the light in the kitchen, you return to the sofa by the fire and slide gratefully into a nook in the corner. There is no television here and there are no digital clocks to tell you the time. Outside, it's dark enough that it could be midnight. You know it's much earlier than that, but there is a timelessness about the moment. The storm is now at its peak and you understand from the weather that the snow will fall all night long. There's something comforting in knowing that even if you wanted to do a chore or a task outside the house, you really couldn't. No, your only option is to stay snug here in the winter cabin, keeping the fireplace company. You lean your head against the armrest of the couch and watch the flames dancing in the hearth as the storm continues. You can faintly hear some wind chimes on the porch. They ring merrily, but with dissonance, as if to tell everyone they are having a bumpy ride. You wonder idly if they will have icicles hanging from them by the morning. You'll be sure to check first thing. Soon you realise that if you don't get up, you will fall asleep on the sofa. And while there would be nobody to judge you for it, you are also looking forward to the big bed with the crisp white sheets. You flick the switch and the gas fireplace is instantly extinguished. Then, leaving just one light on, you exit to the living area and return to the bedroom. It's cooler back there, far from the hearth. You are lifted from your sleepy days just enough that you can do all the proper bedtime preparations. First you don your pyjamas, which feel so wonderful after your long day. Then you head to the bathroom where you take your time washing your face with warm water and brushing your teeth. You pat your cheeks and hands dry with a fluffy white towel. Leaving just a nightlight on, you return to the bedroom. Once again. The wind rattles the window as you fold back the time worn quilt. The room is now lit only by the bedside lamp. It casts a warm and friendly pool of light around the side of the bed where you plan to read and then sleep. You slide into the clean sheets. They have a faintly outdoorsy smell, like fresh linen. Something about it reminds you of your childhood. Is there anything nicer than sleeping on clean sheets? You wonder to yourself. Sleepily propping yourself up with a plush pillow, you open your book to where you had left off. For a time the only sounds are the storm outside the window and the turning of pages. But you are oh so tired. You hadn't realized quite how much you needed a rest. Despite finding your book very interesting, you are soon obliged to lay it aside. You'll have lots of time to read it tomorrow. You turn off the bedside lamp with a quiet click. Heaving a happy sigh, you turn onto your side, pulling the covers right up over your shoulder. You wiggle your toes, happily finding your favorite comfortable position. The heavenly scent of the clean sheets surrounds you and you feel so safe and protected. The bedroom is an island of tranquility. Nobody needs you to do anything. Tomorrow you will have the whole day to relax and enjoy the snow. Although you hardly realize it, your mind begins to drift. You see the snowy landscape moving beneath you, as if you are a bird flying through the air. The drifts undulate, obscuring objects they have buried beneath them. The snow is fresh and untouched by any living thing. The world is white. It is a blank slate. But then a little bunny goes hopping across it, leaving a graceful straight line in the fresh snow. And all is right with the world. Your mind is blissfully free of any worries, and eventually you fall into a deep and restful slumber in the winter cabin. Sa.