← Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
Mudlarking on the River, Part 2 (Encore)
00:33:13
Season 17, Episode 23
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- [00:01]
Andrew
Get more Nothing much happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories, and ad free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe Now. If you already listen to me, then you know bedtime stories can be powerful tools for rest. But sometimes what you need isn't a story. Maybe it's something a little different. And that's where Sleep Magic comes in. Sleep Magic is a sleep hypnosis podcast hosted by hypnotherapist Jessica Porter. Instead of storytelling, Jessica uses a hypnotic voice that gradually slows down, weaving in gentle suggestions to help your mind let go. It's designed so that by the end, you're not just calmer, you're already asleep. And what's unique is that she doesn't only talk about sleep. Jessica threads in themes like dealing with heartbreak, easing anxiety and building confidence so the work you do while drifting off actually carries into your waking life. There are more than 300 episodes and listeners call the show life changing and a real gift. Over 5 million people have tuned in,
- [01:24]
Kathryn Nicolai
and I can see why.
- [01:26]
Andrew
So if you're curious to try a different approach, one that complements what you already get here, subscribe to Sleep Magic. Wherever you listen to podcasts, just search Sleep Magic and start listening for free today. You already know how much good sleep matters, because when you sleep well, everything feels a little easier. Your mood, your focus, even how your body feels the next day. And when you don't, it can feel like you're dragging that tiredness with you everywhere. That's why I want to tell you about the Sleep Bundle from Cured Nutrition, which I've been using as part of my own wind down routine and which I gifted to another friend today. What I appreciate about it is that it's designed to help your body ease into rest rather than knocking you out or leaving you groggy the next morning. The Sleep Bundle combines two formulas that work together to support deeper, more restorative sleep. It includes their Zen capsules, which are made with calming botanicals like valerian root, chamomile, ashwagandha and magnesium, along with broad spectrum CBD to help quiet the mind and relax the body. The bundle also includes their CBN night Caps or night oil, which support deeper sleep quality through the night. I take them about an hour before bed, usually while I'm dimming the lights getting into my reading. I like that they work with my natural sleep rhythms. I wake up feeling rested, not foggy, and that makes a big difference. Right now, the Sleep Bundle is already 10% off and you can take an additional 20% off at checkout with my Code Sweet Dreams. The discounts stack plus all orders over $100 automatically qualify for free shipping, including the sleep bundle. Visit curednutrition.com nothingmuch and use my Code Sweet Dreams at checkout for the extra savings. That's C U r e d nutrition.com nothingmuch Coupon code sweet dreams
- [03:43]
Kathryn Nicolai
welcome to Bedtime Stories for everyone in which Nothing Much Happens. You feel good and then you fall asleep. I'm Kathryn Nicolai. I write and read all the stories
- [04:03]
Andrew
you hear on Nothing Much Happens.
- [04:07]
Kathryn Nicolai
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.
- [04:22]
Andrew
It could have been recorded with different
- [04:24]
Kathryn Nicolai
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. Now I have a story to tell you and it is like a lullaby
- [04:56]
Andrew
for your busy mind.
- [04:59]
Kathryn Nicolai
It will occupy it just enough to let you drift deeply to sleep. Just by listening regularly, we will train your brain to fall asleep faster and return to sleep more easily. I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little bit slower the second time through. If you wake in the night, don't hesitate to turn a story right back on or just think through any of the details that you can remember. Even a pleasant memory can send you back to sleep. This will get easier with time and practice, so have patience if you are new to this. Our story tonight is called Mudlarking on the River Part two and it's a story about a search for ordinary treasures in the sand on a bright spring morning. It's also about a coin with a hole through its center, the red and white pole of a barber shop, forsythia stems and curiosity and imagination and seeing things around us with new eyes.
- [06:34]
Andrew
There are days when my brain feels crowded. Too many decisions, too many open tabs, too many back to back work that asks me to stay sharp even when I feel a little foggy. And on those days it's tempting to reach for something caffeinated. But I've learned that jittery energy and an afternoon crash don't help me think any better. They certainly don't suit the work I do. That's why I've been using Nature Sunshine Brain Edge. Nature Sunshine Brain Edge combines hand harvested yerba mate with with powerful nootropics to support focus, memory and cognitive performance. Without the crash, I notice that I feel clearer and more steady when I'm recording, writing, or working through a long to do list. It enhances focus and clarity. The nootropic botanicals help me concentrate and stay sharp. It supports memory and learning, promoting recall and mental stamina with ingredients like bacopa and ginkgo. And it delivers smooth, sustained energy. The wild harvested yerba mate provides natural caffeine without the jitters or the sudden drop off. I like that it's a simple drink mix. I can have it hot or cold. It fits easily into my broader wellness routine, especially on mentally demanding days. So don't fight through feeling foggy and lethargic. Ignite your mental performance with Brain Edge. Nature Sunshine is offering 20% off your first order plus free shipping. Go to naturesunshine.com and use the code Nothing Much at checkout. That's code nothing much@naturesunshine.com
- [08:27]
Kathryn Nicolai
now it's time, friend. Snuggle down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can. The world will wait for you till tomorrow. Soften your jaw. Let your shoulders and neck relax and your eyes close. I'll guard you with my voice as you sleep so you can let go. Really let go. Take a deep breath in through your nose and sigh from your mouth. Let's do one more, all the way in and out with sound. Good Mudlarking on The River, Part 2 I couldn't get over how good it smelled this morning. The scent of the fresh, moving water as the river flowed past, the good earthy smell of the sand and silt as I poked through it with my gloves. And the air. Though it was too soon for any of the trees to bud, or even the first of the spring grass to grow, it smelled somehow green. I was drinking it all in, knowing that snow could come tomorrow and push spring off for a few more weeks. I had already had my first find on the riverbank. I was mudlarking, a term and activity I wasn't familiar with until my beachcombing friends taught me about it. To mudlark was to search the soft banks beside a body of water for interesting and valuable objects. In some places you might find rings from hundreds of years before, lost, perhaps when someone dove into the water on a hot day or tossed from a bridge in anger when a heart was broken. Around here, most finds were a lot more recent soda bottles from a few decades before, or an anchovy can with the keys still wound into its metal lid. More often than not, they were simple objects of daily life. But I loved the idea of unearthing them and imagining a story to go with them, how they arrived in the sand on this early spring morning, and my first find today was a coin. I'd spotted the edge of it as I poked through some pebbles close to the water. It was a pretty bronze, and while it wasn't exceptionally old, it had been minted in the 90s. It was from another country, which felt pretty special. And best of all, it had a hole through its center, a feature I'd never seen in currency before. When I pulled it from the ground, the hole was plugged with sand, and I rinsed it in the cold water of the river till it sparkled wherever it was from. It represented five of something, and I thought how we tended to count things in fives and tens. I'd read about examples of other counting systems through history. Some civilizations used a base 12 or a base 20, or even a base 60 system. Base 12 in particular still showed up a lot in our world. 12 months in a year, 12 inches in a foot, 12 donuts in a dozen. The equinox, now just a few days off, on which we celebrated 12 hours of day and 12 hours of night. As I slipped the coin into my pocket, I decided that it had been brought home after a trip abroad years ago, the change from an ice cream bought on the last walk through a plaza before heading to the airport. It had become a token of remembrance for that time in a foreign and exciting place, and the person who brought it home kept it in their pocket for years, rubbing it between their thumb and forefinger whenever they needed to be reminded about how wide the world was, how many possibilities lay ahead of them. Then one day, while walking across a bridge on a chilly late autumn afternoon, somewhere far upstream of here, they'd pushed their hands into their pockets, thinking it was about time to start grabbing gloves on the way out of the house in the morning. And the coin had slipped out and had hit the walk beside them and rolled toward the water, and before they could do anything about it, tumbled over the edge of the bridge and splashed into the river below. There had been a moment of loss. They'd stood looking down into the water, a little shocked that it was gone. Then they had started to smile down at their rippled reflection. The token had been about the joy of adventure, hadn't it? Well, now it was on an adventure of its own, and they wished it well. Further down the bank, I spotted a shape that was too regular to be a stone, a reflective surface that I thought might be glass. As I got closer, I saw that it was the bottom of a bottle, and I wondered how much of it was left beneath the surface. Sometimes I would come away with just the very bottom piece of glass or a partial broken vessel. I started to carefully clear the sand around it until it came free. To my delight, it was unbroken and whole. It was prettily shaped with a square bottom and a long sloping neck. It reminded me a bit of the bottles of oil and vinegar set out on the tables at the diner. The glass was tinted a light blue and its cork had survived its time in the water and sand. There was a remnant of a label, though any print that had been there was long ago faded and washed away. As I rinsed it in the river, I decided that it had held hair tonic, a precursor to our gels and mousses of today, and that this particular bottle had sat on the counter of a barber shop when my grandfather was a young man. The red and white pole in the window had spun on a slow moving motor, making a sound that was so constant it eventually failed to be noticed. On a day like today, a sunny Saturday, the shop would have been full of customers sitting in their chairs, gossiping and sipping from paper cups of coffee or tilted back with steaming towels on their faces. Eucalyptus and witch hazel scented the air, and every now and then the room would break up with laughter at someone's joke or story. I imagined my own grandfather there, a little shy around the others, quiet but enjoying the stories and camaraderie as he eyed himself in the mirror, watching as the barber reached for the glass bottle on the shelf and shook a little tonic into his hand to finish off my grandfather's fresh cut after the stray hairs had been brushed off his collar and he'd stepped back out into the March sunlight. He'd gone where? To the diner for a sandwich? Home to dress for a date? To the movies for a matinee. Maybe my next time mudlarking would tip my imagination to an answer. For now I would take my treasures home. Coin I'd thread onto a necklace to be my own, token for a while, and the bottle to hold a stem of forsythia when it bloomed in a I took one more look up and down the river. I wondered which objects on my own shelves, in my own pockets might inspire some future archaeologist. When dug out of the mud, the things we take for granted can seem magical when seen with the right eyes. Mud larking on the river part 2. I couldn't get over how good it smelled this morning, the scent of the fresh moving water as the river flowed past the good earthy smell of the sand and silt as I poked through it with my gloves. And the air, though it was too soon for any of the trees to bud, or even the first of the spring grass to grow, but smelled somehow green. I was drinking it all in, knowing that snow could come tomorrow and push spring off for a few more weeks. I'd already had my first find on the riverbank. I was mudlarking, a term and activity I wasn't familiar with until my beach combing friends had taught me about it. To mudlark was to search the soft banks beside a body of water for interesting and valuable objects. In some places you might find rings from hundreds of years before, lost, perhaps when someone dove into the water on a hot day, or tossed from a bridge in anger when a heart was broken. Around here, most finds were a lot more recent, soda bottles from a few decades before, or an anchovy can with the keys still wound into its metal lid. More often than not, they were simple objects of daily life, but I loved the idea of unearthing them and imagining a story to go with them and how they arrived in the sand on this early spring morning. My first find today was a coin. I'd spotted the edge of it as I poked through some pebbles close to the water. It was a pretty bronze, and while it wasn't exceptionally old, it had been minted in the 90s. It was from another country, which felt pretty special. Best of all, it had a hole right through its center, a feature I'd never seen in currency before. When I pulled it from the ground, the hole was plugged with sand, and I rinsed it in the cold water of the river till it sparkled. Wherever it was from. It represented five of something, and I thought of how we tended to count things in fives and tens. I'd read about examples of other counting systems through history. Some civilizations used a base 12 or a base 20, or even a base 60 system. Base 12 in particular still showed up a lot in our world. 12 months in a year, 12 inches in a foot, 12 donuts in a dozen. The equinox, now just a few days off, on which we celebrated 12 hours of day and 12 hours of night. As I slipped the coin into my pocket, I decided that it had been brought home after a trip abroad years ago, the change from an ice cream bought on the last walk through a plaza before heading to the airport. It had become a token of remembrance for that time in a foreign and exciting place, and the person who brought it home kept it in their pocket
- [27:06]
Andrew
for years,
- [27:09]
Kathryn Nicolai
rubbing it between their thumb and forefinger whenever they needed to be reminded about how wide the world was, how many possibilities lay ahead of them. Then one day while walking across a bridge on a chilly late autumn afternoon, somewhere far upstream of here, they'd pushed their hands into their pockets, thinking it was about time to start grabbing gloves on the way out of the house in the morning, and the coin had slipped out. It had hit the walk beside them and rolled toward the water, and before they could do anything about it, tumbled over the edge of the bridge and splashed into the river below. There had been a moment of loss. They'd stood looking down into the water, a little shocked that it was gone. Then they had started to smile down at their rippled reflection. The token of had been about the joy of adventure, hadn't it? Well, now it was on an adventure of its own, and they wished it well. Further down the bank I spotted a shape that was too regular to be a stone, a reflective surface that I thought might be glass. As I got closer, I saw that it was the bottom of a bottle, and I wondered how much of it was left beneath the surface. Sometimes I would come away with just the very bottom piece of glass, a partial broken vessel. I started to clear away the sand until it came free. To my delight, it was unbroken and whole. It was prettily shaped, with a square bottom and a long sloping neck. It reminded me a bit of the bottles of oil and vinegar set out on the tables at the diner. The glass was tinted a light blue, and its cork had survived its time in the water and sand. There was a remnant of a label, though any print that had been there was long ago faded and washed away. As I rinsed it in the river, I decided that it had held hair tonic, a precursor to our gels and mousses of today, and that this particular bottle had sat on the counter of a barber shop when my grandfather was a young man. The red and white pole in the window had spun on a slow moving motor, making a sound that was so constant it eventually failed to be noticed. On a day like today, a sunny Saturday, the shop would have been full of customers sitting in their chairs, gossiping and sipping from paper cups of coffee or tilted back with steaming towels on their faces. Eucalyptus and witch hazel scented the air, and every now and then the room would break up with laughter at someone's joke or story. I imagined my own grandfather there, a little shy around the others, quiet, but enjoying the stories and camaraderie as he eyed himself in the mirror, watching as the barber reached for the glass bottle on the shelf and shook a little tonic into his hand to finish off my grandfather's fresh cut. After the stray hairs had been brushed off his collar, we'd stepped out into the March sunlight and gone. Where? To the diner for a sandwich? Home to dress for a date? To the movies for a matinee? Maybe my next time mudlarking would tip my imagination to an answer. For now I would take my treasures home, the coin I'd thread onto a necklace to be my own token for a while, and the bottle to hold a stem of forsythia when it bloomed. In a few weeks I took one more look up and down the river. I wondered which objects on my own shelves in my own pockets might inspire some future archaeologist. When dug out of the mud, these things we take for granted can seem magical when seen with the right eyes. Sweet dreams.