← Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
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- [00:01]
Kathryn Nicolai
I was a full time yoga teacher for over 20 years and I know the power of intentional breathing. It's why our two deep breaths have been part of our bedtime routine since episode one. And that's why I want to introduce you to Moon Bird. Moon Bird is a handheld breathing device designed to comfortably fit in the palm of your hand. When you shake it, it will start inflating and deflating. So in your hand, it will feel like you're holding a little bird that is breathing in and out. The only thing you need to do is breathe along with it. When Moonbird inflates, you breathe in. When Moonbird deflates, you breathe out. Simple, intuitive. It takes all the effort and thinking out of your breathing exercises. It's the perfect companion to your bedtime ritual. Or use it when you're meditating, when you're stuck in traffic, anytime you need an assist in feeling calm and focused.
- [01:18]
Bob Wittersheim
Listen.
- [01:18]
Kathryn Nicolai
I know how to breathe to feel better. But still I use Moon Bird because when my mind is racing or wandering, I need a little guidance and it makes my deep breathing more effective. So when you wake in the middle of the night, don't reach for your phone unless it's to restart your bedtime story. That's fine. Reach for Moonbird. Visit Moonbird Life. Nothingmuch happens. To save 20%, we've got it linked in our show notes. Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone in which Nothing Much Happens.
- [02:03]
Bob Wittersheim
You feel good, and then you fall asleep.
- [02:09]
Kathryn Nicolai
I'm Kathryn Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim. We are bringing you an encore episode tonight. Meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past. It could have been recorded with different equipment in a different location. And since I'm a person and not a computer, I sometimes sound just slightly different. But the stories are always soothing and family friendly, and our wishes for you are always deep rest and sweet dreams.
- [03:00]
Bob Wittersheim
Especially at night. Your mind can spin and spiral with thoughts, and you need a way to lift the needle off the record to find some stillness and peace. And that's what this story is for. I'll read it twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through. Just follow along with the sound of my voice and the simple shape of the tail, and before you know it, you'll be waking up tomorrow feeling rested and refreshed. Our story tonight is called Catnap, and it's a story about Marmalade the cat and Crumb the dog as they find ways to play through the winter. It's also about the spark of something sweet that begins to grow between friends, a pup cup enjoyed on a heated patio, and a suitcase ready to be packed. Now switch off your light, set down anything you've been looking at, snuggle down into your sheets and pull your comforter up over your shoulder. You are safe. There's nothing you need to remember or stay on top of. You can let everything go. Take a slow deep breath. In through the nose and out through the mouth again. Bring it in. Out with sound. Good Catnap Marmalade was dozing in her spot by the window. She'd been too small to climb up to it that first winter when I found her a tiny orange kitten out in the snow. But the following autumn, the first day the boiler had kicked on and the radiators began to circulate warmth. She discovered it, a broad flat shelf built over the radiator and right beside a big picture window. She could lay her soft belly against the wood and feel the heat rising up as she looked out at the birds and the branches. Pure kitty heaven. Plus and I think this was a big plus. Crumb couldn't reach her there. Crumb, my little brown dog with a snaggletooth and a lion's mane of delightfully disheveled fur, adored Marmalade. He brought her his toys and waited for her at dinner time, shifting excitedly from paw to paw as her plate was set down beside his. While Marmee frequently pretended not to notice any of this, I saw that they snuggled together on under the blanket at night and that she cleaned his face and ears each day. We were a little family, the three of us, and I loved our life. Crumb and I took walks most days, though lately the icy sidewalks had made them less fun. I'd bought him booties to protect his paws, which went about as well as you might imagine. He'd stood at the door alternating between shaking out each leg and freezing in place as if we were playing red light, green light. We'd made it about 20ft down the sidewalk before we'd abandoned the whole idea, and since then waited for dry days.
- [08:03]
Kathryn Nicolai
To go on walks.
- [08:07]
Bob Wittersheim
Instead. I found some other ways to entertain all of us. Over the winter I'd grown a potful of catnip on the windowsill in the kitchen, and in the afternoons when we all needed a pick me up, I'd rub a leaf along Marmalade's scratching post and over her tiny toy mice, and Crumb and I would watch her go from Sleepy and disinterested to wild attack cat. In a flash I found out Crumb enjoyed car rides and once a week or so we'd head out to do some errands together. He quickly became a favorite customer at several of our stops. He was such a natural ham that he made everyone laugh and fall in love with him. In fact, if I showed up at the hardware store without him, the clerks would peer over the counter and listen for the scrabble of his paws on the linoleum, asking, where's Crumb? They kept biscuits by the register for him, and those days out had become a long buffet of treats for Crumb. We'd often end at our favorite coffee shop, which had a covered patio with heaters and a walk up dog friendly window. I'd get my matcha with soy, Crum would get his pup cup with biscuit garnish, and we'd find a table in the sun. He'd scramble up onto my lap and we'd enjoy our quiet time together. Whenever we got home from those days out, Marmalade would meet us at the door, thoroughly sniff Crumb as if to assure herself he hadn't been anywhere he shouldn't have, then turn her tail and head back to her spot in the window. We'd also had more playdates with Birdie, the sweet giant greyhound whom Marmalade had known since she was a kitten. Birdie's favorite thing to do was sleep, so when he and his dad came over, it was often for a quiet day inside together. In fact, those days together had grown more frequent in the last couple of months. We'd started, without even noticing, to spend every Friday night, all five of us, watching movies on the giant sofa in my living room, waiting for takeout to be delivered, or cooking together in the kitchen. It had grown slowly, organically, this feeling of being together, being more natural, more comfortable than being apart. And now Birdie had his own bed beside the others and his own bowl in the kitchen. He ate different kibble than Crumb, and I'd bought a big bag of it from the pet store to keep in my pantry. Talk about commitment. I went to pet Marmalade in her spot at the window and she woke as I laid a hand in her fur. She snuggled her head up into my palm as I rubbed her ears and scratched down her back. I started to tell her about something we had planned. I think Crum already knew since he'd found my suitcase open in the middle of the bedroom and had sat in it and frowned. For a while. Now Marmee, I said, leaning down to talk quietly to her, you've got to be a big girl, a good big sister. You know how Crumb looks up to you. Her tail flicked and she began to purr. You and Crumb and Birdie, you're going to spend a few days with a friend. You know her, the nice lady at the inn. She's going to take care of you all, and you're going to have fun there. Birdie's dad and I will only be gone a few days and we'll bring you back something nice. She turned and looked at me shrewdly, then faced back to the window where a bright yellow bird with a swath of black across his wings and bold yellow eyebrows sat. An evening grosbeak, a rare, pretty bird. It seemed auspicious. Crumb pranced over and I scooped him up so he could look out as well. I was excited for our trip. We were headed somewhere sunny where we could walk on the beach and see how this little spark we'd started might grow. And I was also nervous to leave the animals. The innkeeper had jumped at the chance to host them, as they were still closed for the season, and she'd mentioned she'd been thinking about getting an animal friend. So we'd all of us be testing things this next week or so. I'd pack up my own bag with sandals and sundresses and books to read on the beach, and then I'd pack up their little bags with their favorite blankies and toys and kibble, and tomorrow we'd drop them off at the inn. I imagined them running through the halls, Crumb chasing a toy down the length of the ballroom, and Marmalade preening among the houseplants in the library. I was excited to go and already excited to come back home again. Catnap Marmalade was dozing her spot by the window. She'd been too small to climb up to it that first winter when I found her a tiny orange kitten out in the snow. But the following autumn, the first day the boiler had kicked on and the radiators began to circulate warmth, she'd discovered it, a broad flat shelf built over the radiator and right beside a big picture window. She could lay her soft belly against the wood and feel the heat rising up as she looked out at the birds and the branches. Pure kitty heaven. Plus and I think this was a big plus. Crumb couldn't reach her there. Crumb, my little brown dog with a snaggle tooth and a Lion's mane of delightfully disheveled fur adored Marmalade. He brought her his toys and waited for her at dinner time, shifting excitedly from paw to paw as her plate was set down beside his. While Marmee frequently pretended not to notice any of this, I saw them snuggled together under the blanket at night, her cleaning his face and ears each day. We were a little family, the three of us, and I loved our life. Crumb and I took walks most days, though lately the icy sidewalks had made them less fun. I'd bought him little booties to protect his paws, which went about as well as you might imagine. He'd stood at the door alternating between shaking out each leg and freezing in place as if we were playing Red light, green light. We'd made it about 20ft down the sidewalk before we'd abandoned the whole idea and since then waited for dry days to go for walks. Instead, I found some other ways to entertain all of us. Over the winter I'd grown a pot full of catnip on the windowsill in the kitchen, and in the afternoons when we all needed a pick me up, I'd rub a leaf along Marmalade's scratching post and over her tiny toy mice and Crumb and I would watch her go from sleepy and disinterested to wild attack cat in a flash. I found out Crom enjoyed car rides and once a week or so we'd head out to do some errands together. He quickly became a favorite customer at several of our stops. He was such a natural ham that he made everyone laugh and fall in love with him. In fact, if I showed up at the hardware store without him, the clerks would peer over the counter and listen for the scrabble of his paws on the linoleum, asking where's Crum? They kept biscuits by the register for him and those days had become a long buffet of treats for Crumb. We'd often end at our favorite coffee shop, which had a covered patio with heaters and a walk up dog friendly window. I'd get my matcha with soy, Crumb would get his pup cup with biscuit garnish, and we'd find a table in the sun. He'd scramble up onto my lap and we'd enjoy our quiet time together. When we got home from those days out, Marmalade would meet us at the door, thoroughly sniff Crumb as if to assure herself he hadn't been anywhere he shouldn't have, then turn her tail and head back to her spot in the window. We'd also had more play dates with Birdie, the sweet giant greyhound who Marmalade had known since she was a kitten. Birdie's favorite thing to do was sleep, so when he and his dad came over, it was often for a quiet day inside together. In fact, those days together had grown more frequent in the last couple of months. We'd started, without even noticing, to spend every Friday night, all five of us, watching movies on the giant sofa in my living room, waiting for takeout to be delivered, or cooking together in the kitchen. It had grown slowly, organically, this feeling of being together, being more natural, more comfortable than being apart. And now Birdie had his own bed beside the others and his own bowl in the kitchen. He ate different kibble than Crumb, and I'd bought a big bag of it from the pet store to keep in my pantry. Talk about commitment. I went to pet Marmalade in her spot at the window, and she woke as I laid a hand in her fur. She snuggled her head up into my palm as I rubbed her ears and scratched down, down her back. I started to tell her about something we had planned. I think Crumb already knew, since he'd found my suitcase open in the middle of the bedroom and had sat in it and frowned for a while. Now, Marmee, I said, leaning down to talk quietly to her, you've got to be a big girl, a good big sister. You know how Crumb looks up to you. Her tail flicked and she began to purr. You and Crumb and Birdie, you're going to spend a few days with a friend. You know her, the nice lady at the inn. She's going to take care of you all, and you're going to have fun there. Birdie's dad and I will only be gone for a few days, and we'll bring you back something nice. She turned and looked at me shrewdly, then faced back to the window where a bright yellow bird with a swath of black across his wings and bold yellow eyebrows sat. An evening grosbeak, a rare, pretty bird. It seemed auspicious. Crumb pranced over and I scooped him up so he could look out as well. I was excited for our trip. We were headed somewhere sunny where we could walk on the beach and see how this little spark we'd started might grow. And I was also a little nervous to leave the animals. The innkeeper had jumped at the chance to host them as they were still closed for the season, and she'd mentioned she'd been thinking about getting an animal friend so we'd all of us be testing things this next week. Or I'd pack up my own bag with sandals and sundresses and books to read on the beach. And then I'd pack up their little bags with their favorite blankies and toys and kibble, and tomorrow we'd drop them off at the inn. I imagined them running through the halls, crumb chasing a toy down the length of the ballroom, and marmalade preening among the houseplants in the library. I was excited to go and already excited to come back home again. Sweet dreams.