← Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep
The Jewelry Box (Encore)
00:32:18
Season 15, Episode 25
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Transcript19 lines
- [00:01]
Host
I care about your sleep. It is always my first thought and priority in making this show and sometimes you need extra help. Sometimes, even when your sleep hygiene is top tier, sleep doesn't come. Some nights you might struggle to fall asleep or wake after a few hours and toss and turn. I get it when Perimenopause hit me like a wrecking ball. It threw my sleep cycles so far off course that I felt like a different person and Sleep Breakthrough Drink from Bioptimizers has really helped. I fall asleep when I want to and I sleep through the night without that 3am panic wake up that had been haunting me. When I wake in the morning, I feel good, not groggy. I'm rested.
- [01:06]
Co-Host
My days are better.
- [01:07]
Host
Bioptimizers has flexible dosing which I really like. My wife needs just a little bit and I take a little more. And for folks looking for an option without melatonin, this is it. Ready to transform your sleep and wake up feeling refreshed? Visit bioptimizers.com nothingmuch and use code nothingmuch for 10% off any order. Don't settle for another restless night, my friends. Try Sleep Breakthrough Drink risk free with Bioptimizer's 365 day money back guarantee. And this is all in our show notes. If you forget, visit buyoptimizers.com nothingmuch and use code nothingmuch for 10% off any order.
- [02:04]
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 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 Sweet dreams.
- [03:10]
Narrator
Let me say a little about how to use this podcast. Our minds are busy now maybe more than ever, and a busy mind can keep you up all night. So let this story that I'm about to tell you become a resting place for your mind. Once your mind settles, you will find sleep. I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through. If you wake in the middle of the night, you can listen again or just walk yourself back through any part of the story you remember. This will disrupt the wandering and get you back to sleep. This is brain training, so have a bit of patience if you are new to it. Over time you will find you fall asleep faster and stay asleep longer. Our story tonight is called the Jewelry Box and it's a story about an heirloom handed down through a family. It's also about a jeweled brooch pinned on the lapel of a jacket. Spring sunlight and some good advice for when things break.
- [04:48]
Co-Host
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- [06:38]
Narrator
Now it's time to set down anything you've been looking at or working on. Switch off the light and slide down into your sheets. Pull the blanket over your shoulder and feel how good it is to be safe in your bed. Let's all take a breath. In through the nose and out through the mouth. Nice. One more. In and out. Good. The jewelry box on my dresser, beside the stack of books that are waiting to be read and the framed photo of my sweetheart and me on one of our first dates, there's a jewelry box. It's made of dark walnut and lined with green velvet that must have been a bright emerald when it was first fitted into place by my grandfather's hands but has faded over the years into the soft green of reindeer moss. He crafted it many years ago for my grandmother out in the workshop in his garage. It was a rare creation for him. He was mostly a fixer, a mender who could step in when the furnace was on the fritz or when the attic stairs were stuck. He'd stand with hands on hips and just look at the problem for a while, picturing where the trouble was.
- [08:58]
Grandparent
And.
- [08:58]
Narrator
How to sort it out. Then he'd slip a screwdriver from his shirt pocket and go to work. But for this box, he'd been starting from scratch, not mending, but creating. He'd sketched out the shape with a flat carpenter's pencil onto the pages of a steno notebook in the garage and gone looking for the right piece of wood. When he found it, he'd measured and cut and fitted the box together, the edges of the wood dovetailing like puzzle pieces. Then he'd divided the interior with thin slats and lined it all with green velvet. He'd let me watch as he created slots for Grandma's rings, hooks to secure her necklaces, and a soft raised mound to loop her bracelets around. The top tray lifted out to reveal an open space underneath inlaid with more velvet. The box was meant to be a surprise for her, and he'd asked me if I could keep a secret. Before he'd let me into the workshop, I'd kept my promise and got to be there on her birthday as she unwrapped it. I remember how quiet the room was as she ran her soft, creased hands over the smooth edges that he'd spent ages carefully sanding and shaping. She lifted the lid and looked down at the velvet and then up at Grandpa with such a bright, happy smile on her face that we all beamed back at her. She was a laugher, not a crier, and she laughed now, clapping her hands like a little girl and leaning over to plant a kiss on Grandpa's cheek. The jewelry box had sat on her vanity table for the rest of her life, next to her tubes of lipstick and tiny precious bottles of perfume. I remember sitting on the edge of her bed, my bare feet swinging as I watched her make herself up for a Saturday night out with Grandpa. She'd picked out her favorite necklace and lifted the tray out to peruse her brooches. I nosily looked over her shoulder as she did and saw a few yellowed envelopes addressed to her in Grandpa's hand. She saw me looking and winked at me in the mirror. She still had their love letters. When the box came to me, I'd gratefully found I could still smell a bit of her perfume whenever I lifted the lid. Now it held my rings, my bracelets, and necklaces. In the compartment underneath were my own love letters, the stubs of concert tickets, and one of Grandma's brooches. It was fragile, with a thin pin at its back that had been mended more than once. On its face was a collection of bright red stones circled with gold in the shape of a ladybug. Her wings were dotted with glossy black jewels. I suspected none of them were real gems. They were probably polished glass, what they used to call paste, but they were precious to me. I was careful with what Grandma had passed on to me, but I wasn't afraid to wear her brooch. I had her china, too, and used it nearly every day. Once, when we'd been drying dishes in her kitchen and a slippery plate had slid out of my hands to crash into a million pieces on the black and white tiles of her floor, I turned a teary face up to her, and she caught my chin in her hand and kissed the tip of my nose, saying, baby, it's a thing, not a person. It made me feel so unashamed and immediately realigned with what actually mattered. To this day, when something breaks, I stop and ask myself, is it a thing or a person? And like her, I can usually laugh instead of cry. I'd pinned her ladybug onto the lapel of my jacket today as I'd gotten ready to go out the door, just feeling the need to have her around me. When I'd stepped out of my apartment and into the narrow alleys of the oldest part of downtown, I stopped to look up at the way the spring sunlight shone on the tops of the buildings. Autumn sun is brassy in the best possible way, but spring sunlight is bright gold, and I was happy to need my sunglasses as I walked. At the corner shop, I stopped to buy a newspaper and a lemon muffin dotted with poppy seeds to tuck into my bag for later. The man who ran the shop had been sweeping the front steps when I came in, and his grandson stood proudly behind the counter, his chin just clearing the stacks of newspapers. He added up my purchases and with a serious face told me how much it would be. His grandfather smiled down at his broom as he swept. I handed over the money and waited until the change was counted back. I thanked the little boy. Ann resisted the urge to wink or make a joke. I remembered how important. It was when you were young and trying to seem grown up that you were taken seriously. We shouldn't forget what being young feels like, even when we are young. No longer on the street again, with Grandma's ladybug on my shoulder and the golden spring light making me squint.
- [17:37]
Grandparent
I.
- [17:37]
Narrator
Headed for the park. The geese would be back, honking their noose and splashing the cold lake water around their long black necks. I would find a bench, take my muffin from my bag, open my paper, and look for things to laugh about. The jewelry box on my dresser, beside the stack of books that are waiting to be read and the framed photo of my sweetheart and me on one of our first dates. There's a jewelry box. It's made of dark walnut and lined with green velvet that must have been a bright emerald when it was first fitted into place by my grandfather's hands but has faded over the years into the soft green of reindeer moss. He crafted it many years ago.
- [19:14]
Grandparent
For.
- [19:14]
Narrator
My grandmother out in the workshop in his garage. It was a rare creation for him. He was mostly a fixer, a mender who could step in when the furnace was on the fritz or when the attic stairs were stuck. He'd stand with hands on hips and just look at the problem for a while, picturing where the trouble was and how to sort it out. Then he'd slip a screwdriver from his shirt pocket and go to work. But for this box, he'd been starting from scratch, not mending, but creating. He'd sketched out the shape with a flat carpenter's pencil onto the pages of a steno notebook in the garage.
- [20:39]
Grandparent
And.
- [20:39]
Narrator
Gone looking for the right piece of wood. When he found it, he'd measured and cut and fitted the box together, the edges of the wood dovetailing like puzzle pieces. Then he'd divided the interior with thin slats and lined it all with green velvet. He'd let me watch as he created slots for Grandma's rings, hooks to secure her necklaces, and a soft raised mound to loop her bracelets around. The top tray lifted out to reveal an open space underneath inlaid with more velvet. The box was meant to be a surprise for her, and he'd asked me if I could keep a secret before he'd let me into the workshop. I'd kept my promise and got to be there on her birthday. As she'd unwrapped it. I remember how quiet the room was as she ran her soft, creased hands over the smooth edges that he'd spent ages carefully sanding and shaping. She lifted the lid and looked down at the velvet and then up at Grandpa with such a bright, happy smile on her face that we all beamed back at her. She was a laugher, not a crier, and she laughed now, clapping her hands like a little girl and leaning over to plant a kiss on Grandpa's cheek. The jewelry box had sat on her vanity table for the rest of her life, next to her tubes of lipstick and tiny precious bottles of perfume. I remember sitting on the edge of her bed, my bare feet swinging.
- [23:56]
Grandparent
As.
- [23:56]
Narrator
I watched her make herself up for a Saturday night out with Grandpa. She picked out her favorite necklace and lifted the tray out to peruse her brooches. I nosily looked over her shoulder as she did and saw a few yellowed envelopes addressed to her in Grandpa's hand. She saw me looking and winked at me in the mirror. She still had their love letters. When the box came to me, I gratefully found I could still smell a bit of her perfume whenever I lifted the lid. Now it held my rings, my bracelets, and necklaces. In the compartment underneath were my own love letters, the stubs of concert tickets, and one of Grandma's brooches. It was fragile, with a thin pin at its back that had been mended more than once. On its face was a collection of bright red stones circled with gold in the shape of a ladybug. Her wings were dotted with glossy black jewels. I suspected none of them were real gems. They were probably polished glass, what they used to call paste, but they were precious to me. I was careful with what Grandma had passed to me, but I wasn't afraid to wear her brooch. I had her china, too, and used it nearly every day. Once, when we'd been drying dishes in her kitchen and a slippery plate had slid out of my hands to crash into a million pieces on the black and white tiles of her floor. I turned a teary face up to her and she caught my chin in her hand and kiss the tip of my nose, saying, baby, it's a thing, not a person. It had made me feel so unashamed and immediately realigned with what actually mattered. To this day, when something breaks, I stop and ask myself, is it a thing or a person? And like her, I can usually laugh instead of cry. I'd pinned her ladybug onto the lapel of my jacket today as I'd gotten ready to go out the door, just feeling the need to have her around me when I stepped out of my apartment and into the narrow alleys of the oldest part of downtown. I stopped to look up at the way the spring sunlight shone on the tops of the buildings. Autumn sun is brassy in the best possible way, but spring sunlight is bright gold, and I was happy to need my sunglasses as I walked. At the corner shop, I stopped to buy a newspaper and a lemon muffin dotted with poppy seeds to tuck into my bag for later. The man who ran the shop had been sweeping the front step when I came in, and his grandson stood proudly behind the counter, his chin just clearing the stacks of newspapers. He added up my purchases and with a serious face told me how much it would be. His grandfather smiled down at his broom as he swept. I handed over the money and waited while the change was counted back. I thanked the little boy unresisted the urge to wink or make a joke. I remembered how important it was when you were young and trying to seem grown up that you were taken seriously. We shouldn't forget what being young feels like, even when we are young. No longer on the street again, with Grandma's ladybug on my shoulder and the golden spring light making me squint.
- [30:41]
Grandparent
I.
- [30:42]
Narrator
Headed for the park. The geese would be back, honking their news and splashing cold lake water around their long black necks. I would find a bench, take my muffin from my bag, open my paper, and look for things to laugh about. Sweet dreams.