← Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
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- [00:01]
Unknown Speaker
If you're listening, you know self care is vital for overall wellness, but it can be hard to prioritize yourself and ask for what you need. If you're a veteran going through a tough time, there are people who want to listen and help with no pressure or judgment. Dial 988 then press one chat at veterans crisisline.net or text 838255 to reach the Veterans Crisis Line.
- [00:31]
Catherine Nicolai
Responders are ready to support you no.
- [00:34]
Unknown Speaker
Matter what you're going through.
- [00:37]
When we decided to start selling merch in our wind down box, we knew we needed a behind the scenes partner to make it successful. For big companies like Aloe or Magic Spoon that have healthy sales and attractive.
- [00:51]
Brand and good marketing, you might not.
- [00:54]
Realize that a big part of their success is actually the business behind the.
- [00:58]
Catherine Nicolai
Business that is making selling simple for.
- [01:02]
Unknown Speaker
Millions of businesses including ours. That business is Shopify. Nobody does selling better than Shopify, home of the number one checkout on the planet and the not so secret Secret. With shop pay sales conversion boosts up to 50%, meaning way less carts going abandoned and way more sales. The secret's out. Businesses that want to grow grow with Shopify. Upgrade your business and get the same checkout Aloe uses. Sign up for your $1 per month trial period at shopify.com nothing much all lowercase go to shopify.com nothing much to upgrade your selling today shopify.com/nothing much ready for a getaway? Virgin Voyages is the adults only destination for anyone seeking a restorative, luxurious and award winning vacation at sea. They focus on creating relaxing spaces. The cabins are meticulously designed to give you a gorgeous place to feel renewed and Virgin Voyages is exclusively adult. They cater food, entertainment and activities to adult tastes. Explore the Caribbean this winter on one of their week long Caribbean escapes. Learn more@virginvoyages.com or contact your travel advisor.
- [02:31]
Catherine Nicolai
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 everything 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 Save a Fox Sanctuary. They work to rescue and provide forever homes for captive born non releasable wildlife. You can learn more about them in our show notes. I'd like to thank some recent premium subscribers for their support. So thank you Luna, thank you Carlos, Thanks Seth and thanks Brittany. Community support makes this show possible and freely available. If you'd like to join their ranks and get ad free and bonus episodes wherever you're listening now, go to nothingmuchappens.com or click on the link in our show Notes. Now. We need just enough entertainment engagement stuff happening to keep your mind gently focused. Not too much so that you end up staying awake, but enough that you don't wander into aimless thought. And I have that for you. All you have to do is listen. I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake later in the night and start to feel the engines in your mind revving back up, just turn on an episode. You'll drop right back off. Sometimes just thinking through the details of a story or even a pleasant memory will do the same. Our story tonight is called All Hallows Eve at the Inn and it's the third in our special Halloween series. This year it's about the innkeeper and her trusty sidekick Sycamore as they ready the inn for guests on a dark October eve. It's also about carved pumpkins that line the great staircase, a blurry face in an old photo, a bubbling cauldron of punch in the ballroom, a costume purchased from the thrift store, and a forgotten tradition brought back to life.
- [05:42]
Unknown Speaker
If you're listening, you know self care is vital for overall wellness, but it can be hard to prioritize yourself and ask for what you need. If you're a veteran going through a tough time, there are people who want to listen and help with no pressure or judgment. Dial 988 then press 1 chat@VeteransCrisisLine.net or text 838255 to reach the Veterans Crisis line.
- [06:12]
Catherine Nicolai
Responders are ready to support you no.
- [06:15]
Unknown Speaker
Matter what you're going through.
- [06:17]
Anybody else need a getaway? Something restorative, luxurious and grown ups only? Let me tell you about Virgin Voyages award winning vacations at sea. They have an emphasis on luxury with over $1,000 in value included in every sailing and everything they offer from their menus which are created by Michelin star chefs, to their cabins designed by top international firms. It's all award winning, voted World's Best by Travel and Leisure and Conde Nast readers. For the second year in a row, Virgin Voyages is exclusively adult. They cater food, entertainment and activities to adult tastes and their sailors love it. Explore the Caribbean this winter on one of their week long Caribbean escapes. Learn more@virgin voyages.com or contact your travel advisor.
- [07:19]
Catherine Nicolai
Okay, lights out. It's time to snuggle down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can, let your whole body drop heavy into the sheets and relax your jaw. If you tend to clench after we take our deep breaths, place the tip of your tongue at the spot where your upper teeth meet the gums on the inside. Sometimes I kind of suction my tongue there into the roof of my mouth and it puts my jaw in a position where I really can't clench. First, take a deep breath in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. Nice. One more. Breathe in and out. Good. All Hallows Eve at the inn, Sycamore was very excited. He sat on the check in desk beside the giant book our guests sign when they arrive. His tail thumped and played on the desktop and his black ears twitched back and forth. We'd met in this very room the year before. He'd been found by a friend of mine. She'd spotted him in the branches of the tall sycamore tree in the side yard here at the inn, and when she'd nickered at him from the ground, he'd climbed down into her arms. She'd transferred him into mine, and since then we'd been the best of friends. I didn't know how he would be as a hotel cat. Would he like the constant coming and going of guests, footsteps in the halls, Chef and our maid and me all moving from floor to floor. Some cats run at the first sound of a human and hide under beds, and I worried he would be the same. But he seems to have been born to be an assistant innkeeper. He loves greeting folks as they arrive, herding them from the front door, past the great staircase in the hall and into the front office. If you stretch out on the porch swing, he'll curl up in your lap. Need a bit of company while you read in the library. He's happy to sit beside you and purr. He knows every nook and cranny of this great old house and is as good and welcoming an ambassador as I could hope for. And now, as the afternoon waned and it was nearly time for even more guests to arrive, he was eager to play his part. Many years ago, before I was innkeeper here, there was another innkeeper. She oversaw the house's first turn at hospitality. It had originally been a wealthy family's home, then a school, then had sat empty for a time until she opened its doors to guess when she was ready to pass the torch to someone else. No one stepped into her shoes, and again the house was empty. Then, one fateful day, I came bicycling down the overgrown drive with no intention of doing anything more than circling past the front door and going back to the road. But I felt pulled to peer into the cobwebbed windows, to walk through the old gardens and down to the lake. This place was like a book I couldn't put down. Soon I found myself with the keys in my hand, venturing into the dark halls with a flashlight, wanting to reclaim every cupboard. Along with restoring the inn, bringing the ballroom back to life, and even rehabilitating the dumbwaiter in the hall, we were returning another tradition to this old place. For years, the original innkeeper had thrown a giant party every Halloween night and invited the whole village to come. This year, in less than an hour, in fact, our guests would arrive for this new old celebration. I came around the desk and leaned down to plant a kiss on Sycamore's head. Let's light the candles in the pumpkins. He leapt down beside me and meowed excitedly as we came out into the hall. We'd gone all out for this. Giant spider webs stretched up the great staircase all the way to the third floor, and on each step was a carved pumpkin. Ghostly gauze was draped over mirrors and chandeliers. The stairs were delightfully creaky as we climbed, and I smiled, thinking that the house was playing its part in the spectacle. I'd first thought of putting real candles in the pumpkins. I wanted them to flicker and smoke just a bit for the authenticity. But Chef, ever the more logical of us, pointed out that all it would take was a misplaced shoe on the stairs to send a flaming pumpkin down into the hall. And then the fire department would have to be called. While I liked the image of that flying, grinning gourd, Very Headless Horseman, I guessed they had a point. But now, as we turned the landing at the second floor and made our way puffing slightly up the last flight, I realized hand lighting all those candles would have taken the whole night. Chef had found some battery operated lights and kindly charged and situated each one and gave me a remote. I took it from my pocket as we stood at the very top of the stairs and looked down through the gloomy webbed flights and into the dark hall. Sycamore poked his head through the railings and I could feel his tail curl around my ankle. I pushed the button on the remote and the whole space lit up with a flickering orange glow that was spooky yet beckoning. I hoped it would be irresistible to our party guests tonight, drawing them up to the ballroom where Chef's punch cauldron would be bubbling and smoking and the band playing, enticing them to reach for a partner and join the dance. Macabre. Now into our costume, Sikki. Not much time left and we hustled down the hall to our room. Sycamore had considered several costume options. He'd considered going as a jaguar, slinking through the crowds as a big, powerful cat, but you know, in his mind that was already who he was, so he wouldn't have even needed a costume, which isn't that fun. I'd suggested he go as Velcro, since he's black and sticks to stuff. I'd been picking some of his fur off my collar when I'd made the suggestion, but he just turned away from me and sighed. In the end, Chef found him a sort of onesie with glow in the dark paint that made him look like a kitty skeleton, and when we'd tried it on and flicked off the lights, he'd watched himself prowling in front of the mirror and purred. I helped him into it now, rubbing his ears as I snapped it up the back. I thought about all the silly fun we had together. How would I ever lived without him? Then I turned to my closet and took out a vintage dress, an apron I'd found at the resale shop. I didn't know the name of the other innkeeper, didn't know how old she was when she started or stopped, but I felt a kinship with her, just like I dressed as my heroes when I'd gone out trick or treating when I was young. I was dressing as her for the party tonight. It was strange, actually. We'd found lots of pictures of the house at various times in its life, but we'd never found a single shot of her. Well, there was one we found in the back of a closet, but her face was a blur. She must have been moving too fast for the shutter to catch her. I could relate. It seemed I was always needed somewhere in the inn. Still, I'd based this costume on that blurry image, a pale dress with full cuffs and a dark apron just like me. She'd worn sensible flat shoes that would make going up and down the stairs possible and speedy, and though I couldn't tell in the photo, I'd guessed she'd tucked her hair up in a neat bun. So I twisted my own locks into place and secured them with bobby pins. Sycamore lay glowing in front of the full size mirror in the dim light, and I stepped in front of it. I felt the air fade from my lungs. I don't know why in some ways I was dressing up as myself, but in the mirror I saw a different version of me, a woman who had known even more of the secrets of this old house, and it felt like saying a word that had been on the tip of your tongue for years. A bell rang over my door and I jumped, startling myself out of whatever sort of daydream this was. I laughed and looked down at skeletal Sycamore. That's Chef, letting us know that guests are arriving. Sigh. Let's be good hosts. I peered at myself in the mirror one more time and said as I turned to the door, or good ghosts. All Hallows Eve at the inn Sycamore was very excited. He sat on the check in desk beside the giant book our guest sign when they arrive. His tail thumped and played on the desktop and his black ears twitched back and forth. We'd met in this very room the year before. He'd been found by a friend of mine. She'd spotted him in the branches of the tall sycamore tree in the side yard here at the inn. When she'd nickered at him from the ground, he'd climbed down into her arms. She'd transferred him into mine, and since then we'd been the best of friends. I didn't know how he would be as a hotel cat. Would he like the constant coming and going of guests, footsteps in the halls, Chef and our maid and me all moving from floor to floor? Some cats run at the first sound of a human and hide under beds, and I worried he would be the same. But he seems to have been born to be an assistant innkeeper. He loves greeting folks as they arrive, herding them from the front door, past the great staircase in the hall, and into the front office. If you stretch out on the porch swing, he'll curl up in your lap. Need a bit of company while you read in the library. He's happy to sit beside you and purr. He knows every nook and cranny of this great old house and is as good and welcoming an ambassador as I could hope for. And now, as the afternoon waned and it was nearly time for even more guests to arrive, he was eager to play his part. Many years ago, before I was the innkeeper here, there was another innkeeper. She oversaw the house's first turn at hospitality. It had originally been a wealthy family's home, then a school, then had sat empty for a time until she opened its doors to guess when she was ready to pass the torch to someone else. No one stepped into her shoes and again the house was empty. Then one fateful day, I came bicycling down the overgrown drive with no intention of doing anything more than circling past the front door and going back to the road. But I felt pulled to peer into the cobwebbed windows, to walk through the old gardens and down to the lake. This place was like a book I couldn't put down, and soon I found myself with the keys in my hand, venturing into the dark halls with a flashlight, wanting to reclaim every cupboard. Along with restoring the inner, bringing the ballroom back to life, and even rehabilitating the dumb waiter in the hall, we were returning another tradition to this old place. For years, the original innkeeper had thrown a giant party every Halloween night and invited the whole village to come. This year, in less than an hour, in fact, our guests would arrive for this new old celebration. I came around the desk and leaned down to plant a kiss on Sycamore's head. Let's light the candles in the pumpkins. He leapt down beside me and meowed excitedly as we came out into the hall. We'd gone all out for this. Giant spider webs stretched up the staircase all the way to the third floor, and on each step was a carved pumpkin. Ghostly gauze was draped over mirrors and chandeliers. The stairs were delightfully creaky as we climbed, and I smiled, thinking that the house was playing its part in the spectacle. I'd first thought of putting real candles in the pumpkins. I wanted them to flicker and smoke just a bit for the authenticity. But Chef, ever the more logical of us, pointed out that all it would take was a misplaced shoe on the stairs to send a flaming pumpkin down into the hall. And then the fire department would have to be called. While I liked the image of that flying, grinning gourd, very headless horsemen. I guessed they had a point. And now, as we turned the landing at the second floor and made our way puffing slightly up the last flight, I realized hand lighting all those candles would have taken the whole night. Chef had found some battery operated lights and kindly charged and situated each one and given me a remote. I took it from my pocket as we stood at the very top of the stairs and looked down through the gloomy webbed flights and into the dark hall. Sycamore poked his head through the railings and I could feel his tail curled around my ankle. I pushed the button on the remote and the whole space lit up with a flickering orange glow that was spooky yet beckoning. I hoped it would be irresistible to our party guests tonight, drawing them up to the ballroom, where Chef's punch cauldron would be bubbling and smoking and the band playing, enticing them to reach for a partner and join the dance. Macabre. Now into our costumes, Sikhi. Not much time left and we hustled down the hall to our room. Sycamore had considered several costume options. He'd considered going as a jaguar, slinking through the crowds as a big and powerful cat. But you know, in his mind that was already who he was, so he wouldn't have even needed a costume. Which isn't that fun. I'd suggested he could go as Velcro, since he's black and sticks to stuff. I'd been picking some of his fur off my collar when I'd made that suggestion, but he'd just turned away and sighed. In the end, Chef found him a sort of onesie with glow in the dark paint that made him look like a kitty skeleton, and when we tried it on and flicked off the lights, he'd watched himself prowling in front of the mirror and purred. I helped him into it now, rubbing his ears as I snapped it up the back. I thought about all the silly fun we had together. How had I ever lived without him? Then I turned to my closet and took out a vintage dress, an apron I'd found at the resale shop. I didn't know the name of the other innkeeper, didn't know how old she was when she started or stopped, but I felt a kinship with her. And just like I'd dressed as my heroes when I went out trick or treating when I was young, I was dressing as her for the party tonight. It was strange, actually. We'd found lots of pictures of the house at various times in its life, but we'd never found a single shot of her. Well, there was one I'd found in the back of a closet, but her face was a blur. She must have been moving too fast for the shutter to catch her. I could relate. It seemed I was always needed somewhere in the inn. Still, I based this costume on that blurry image, a pale dress with full cuffs and a dark apron. Like me, she'd worn sensible flat shoes that would make going up and down the stairs possible and speedy, and though I couldn't tell in the photo, I guessed she'd tucked her hair up in a neat bun. So I twisted my own locks into place and secured them with bobby pins. Sycamore lay glowing in front of the full size mirror in the dim light, and as I stepped in front of it. I felt the air fade from my lungs. I don't know why. In some ways I was dressing up as myself. But in the mirror I saw a different version of me, a woman who had known even more of the secrets of this old house, and it felt like saying a word that had been on the tip of your tongue for years. A bell rang over my door and I jumped, startling myself out of whatever sort of daydream this was. I laughed, looked down at skeletal sycamore. That's Chef, letting us know that guests are arriving. Sai, let's be good hosts. I peered at myself in the mirror one more time and said, as I turned to the door, or good ghosts. Sweet dreams.