May 13, 2024 • 28 mins
Our story tonight is called A Month of Sundays, and it’s a story about finding a way to make time for rest and enjoyment. It’s also about a tin box of recipe cards, a neatly made bed with the corner folded down, aunts and idioms, porch swings and school buses and the delight of one of the best days of the week.
We give to a different charity each week, and this week, we are giving to the Trio Animal Foundation; they assist shelters, rescues, and individuals by paying the medical bills of homeless pets.
Save over $100 on Kathryn’s hand-selected wind-down favorites with the Nothing Much Happens Wind-Down Box. A collection of products from our amazing partners:
- Eversio Wellness: Chill Now
- Vellabox: Lavender Silk Candle
- Alice Mushrooms: Nightcap
- NutraChamps: Tart Cherry Gummies
- A Brighter Year: Mini Coloring Book
- NuStrips: Sleep Strips
- Woolzies: Lavender Roll-On.
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Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:01):
Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens,
you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolay.
I create everything you hear and nothing much happens with
(00:24):
audio engineering by Bob Witttersheim. We give to a different
charity each week, and this week we are giving to
Trio Animal Foundation. They assist shelters, rescues, and individuals by
paying the medical bills of homeless pets. Learn more about
(00:47):
them in our show notes. I am so happy to
introduce our newest way to unwind together then nothing much
happens wind Down Box. Each product inside has been chosen
with care from my personal favorites to enhance your evening
(01:09):
routine and ease you into a RESTful night. People often
ask me what I do to fall asleep? Who reads
to me? And these are the products I use at
night to make sure I fall asleep comfortably and stay asleep.
And it's like a little treasure box for relaxation. It
(01:34):
features a versio wellnesses chill now Rati extract for peace
and balance, delicious nutri champs, tart cherry gummies to support sleep,
a really great smelling calming lavender candle, from Vella Box. Also,
there's a delightful mini coloring book from a Brighter Year.
(01:58):
You can enjoy soothing chocolates infused with sleep supporting mushrooms
from Alice Mushrooms and their vegan and unwined with Woolsey's
Essential Oils. Plus, for those nights when you need a
little extra help, we have new strips Melatonin strips, super
quick and effective. To all of this, I added three
(02:22):
mini episodes designed to help you before bed, if you
wake in the middle of the night, and to start
the day off on the right foot, visit Nothing Much
Happens dot com or the link in our notes to
bring a piece of the village into your home with
our wind Down Box. Now, a mind that is gently
(02:47):
focused rather than wandering is not only more likely to
slip into sleep, it is naturally happier. I'm calmer, So
think of this as a way to train your brain
for bed, but also for a better day tomorrow. Just
(03:11):
by listening to the sound of my voice and following
along with the general shape of our story will activate
your task positive network and you will sleep. I'll tell
the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the
(03:31):
second time. Through If you're new to this, come with
some patience. You'll want to use the stories regularly for
at least a couple of weeks to get the best result.
Our story tonight is called A Month of Sundays, and
(03:52):
it's a story about finding a way to make time
for rest and enjoyment. It's also about a tin box
of recipe cards, a neatly made bed with the corner
folded down, ants and idioms, porch swings and school buses,
(04:14):
and the delight of one of the best days of
the week. Lights out. Campers, Snuggle down into your bed
and get as cozy and relaxed as you can. Wiggle
(04:36):
one foot into the cool corner of your sheets. Relax,
your jaw, soften any place where you are still holding
whatever today was like is what today was like. And
now we're here. Draw a deep breath in through your
(05:00):
knows and sigh from your mouth. Nice, let's do one
more breathe in and out. Good A month of Sundays.
(05:28):
There was a favorite phrase of one of my aunts,
something i'd hear her say as she gossiped with her
sisters while they sprawled across the sofa at my grandparents' house.
As in he couldn't win me over in a month
(05:50):
of Sundays, or at the table for some holiday dinner,
she'd leaned toward me and say, pass me that dish
of Grandma's potatoes. I haven't had them in a month
of Sundays. I thought of her whenever I heard it,
(06:14):
and sometimes said it as a way to invoke her,
to bring her confidence and tra de vive into what
I was doing or talking about for a while. Like
with many idioms I heard as a child, I didn't
(06:35):
completely or correctly grasp its meaning. I tended to take
those turns of phrase literally. So when someone talked about
beating about the bush, I worried about the bush. When
(06:56):
I heard in an old black and white Cops and
Robbers movie that somebody had better start talking turkey, I
was excited for the upcoming turkey cameo and wondered if
the ones I'd seen from the car window on a
long drive through the country spoke human as well. So likewise,
(07:23):
I thought, at some point in time, I'd flipped the
page on the calendar and come across the Sunday month,
a whole month of Sundays. I'd even asked about it.
When was it happening. My mom had smiled and explained
(07:46):
that it was just a saying, a way to say
a very long time. A month of Sundays meant enough
weeks for thirty or even thirty one Sundays to pass.
I think I'd nodded and gone away, still pretty confused,
(08:10):
when a bit disappointed, confused that anyone would pick that
way to say a long time, and disappointed that there
wasn't waiting for me a whole month when every day
(08:30):
would be a Sunday. As a grown up, I can't
say that I've ever been able to clear a whole
month to spend each day doing as I pleased, resting, reading, baking, gardening, napping.
(08:54):
But sometimes it's possible to fit an extra Sunday in
here and there. Some days my to do list would
get set aside, it would keep for a day, and
I would declare it a Sunday. Middle of the week
(09:19):
didn't matter. It was just Sunday yesterday. I didn't care.
It could be Sunday if I said so. Like today,
there was a rumor going around that it was actually Tuesday,
but I'd crossed that out on the calendar and written
(09:42):
over it in thick green marker Sunday, so clearly the
rumor mill can't be trusted. The day had started a
bit gloomy, over cast and gray. It had rained the
(10:04):
night before, and the sidewalks were still wet. On Sundays,
I usually have a slow start, so I poured a
cup of coffee, took a blanket from the back of
the sofa it stepped out onto the front porch. I'd
(10:27):
spent the previous weekend setting up the furniture out there,
white being down the slats and the swinging and chairs,
sweeping out the corners and plumping up the cushions and
pillows after letting them freshen and the sunshine for a
(10:48):
few hours. It was a bit chilly on the porch
as I settled on the swing and tossed the blanket
over my legs. It's a skill to drink hot coffee
on a porch swing, but I was an old hand.
(11:09):
It was all about getting settled first, then reaching for
your cup from the side table, and not trying to
swing too vigorously until half the cup was gone. The
school bus passed as I sipped. They only had another
(11:30):
week or so of school before they let out for
the summer. The bus driver waved at me, and I
could see in her face that she was counting down
the days as much as the kids were. The sun
(11:51):
began to creep out, and I watched as the shadows
the trees throw grew crisper lines starker. It seemed like
we'd gone from a few budded trees to full leaf
everywhere overnight. The bird's song grew louder as they got
(12:18):
their dose of sunlight, and by the time my cup
was empty, it seemed like a different day than the
one i'd woken up in. I went inside, letting the
screen door bang behind me, and climbed the stairs to
(12:40):
my bedroom. I opened the windows and let the fresh
air in. The bed was rumpled after a good night's sleep,
and I turned toward it and pulled back the duvet.
I always appreciate coming back to a made bed, so
(13:04):
most days I at least straightened the blankets. But since
it was a Sunday and I had all the time
in the world, I could do the job properly. I
smoothed the sheets, retucking them so they were taut and neat.
(13:30):
Then each pillow got shaken, flipped and shaken again, and
placed just so on the bed and the douvet also
plumped and shaken. Went on, and I folded back the
corner where I would slide in tonight or maybe this
(13:54):
afternoon for a nap. It was something my mom always
did when she helped me make my bed when I
was little. Turning that corner down made the bad feel
so inviting, so cozy and welcoming. I was already looking
(14:20):
forward to getting back in next Sunday activity. I wanted
to bake something in the kitchen. I thumbed through cookbooks
and the handwritten cards in my recipe box. What to make?
(14:45):
I closed my eyes and rested my hand on my belly.
What did I want? What was I craving? Oh? Carrot cake?
I smiled with my eyes still closed. But sometimes seemed
(15:06):
silly to make a cake just for me. Wasn't any
one's birthday or holiday. But then I remembered it was
a Sunday, and I hadn't had carrot cake in a
month of those. So I flipped through the cards in
(15:27):
the tin till I found a past down recipe written
in faded pencil. Of course it had come from that
dear aunt. I pushed the window open a crack over
the sink and smelled lilacs on the breeze. The sun
(15:53):
was bright, the day was young, and I'd be finishing
it with a generous wedge of cake and a maid
bed with the corner turned down. I smiled into the breeze.
I was happy a month of Sundays. It was a
(16:22):
favorite phrase of one of my aunts, something i'd hear
her say as she gossiped with her sisters while they
sprawled across the sofa at my grandparents house, as in,
he couldn't win me over in a month of Sundays,
(16:47):
or at the table for some holiday dinner, she'd lean
towards me and say, pass me that dish of Grandma's potatoes.
I haven't had them in a month of Sundays. I
thought of her or whenever I heard it, and sometimes
(17:11):
said it as a way to invoke her, to bring
her confidence and jois de vive into what I was
doing or talking about for a while. Like with many
idioms I heard as a child, I didn't completely or
(17:33):
correctly grasp the meaning. I tended to take those turns
of phrase literally. So when someone talked about beating about
the bush, I worried about the Bush. When I heard
(17:54):
in an old black and white Cups and Robbers movie
that somebody had better start talking turkey. I was excited
for the upcoming turkey cameo and wondered if the ones
I'd seen from the car window on a long drive
(18:16):
through the country spoke human as well. So likewise, I thought.
At some point I'd flipped the page on the calendar
and come across the Sunday month, a whole month of Sundays.
(18:41):
I'd even asked about it, when was it happening? My
mom had smiled and explained that it was just a saying,
a way to say a very long time. Month of
(19:03):
Sundays meant enough weeks for thirty or even thirty one
Sundays to pass. I think I'd nodded and gone away,
still pretty confused and a bit disappointed, confused that anyone
(19:25):
would pick that way to say a long time, and
disappointed that there wasn't waiting for me a whole month
when every day would be a Sunday. As a grown up,
(19:49):
I can't say that I've ever been able to clear
a whole month to spend each day doing as I pleased, resting, reading, baking, gardening, napping.
(20:14):
But sometimes it's possible to fit an extra Sunday in
here and there. Some days my to do list would
get set aside, it would keep for a day, and
(20:35):
I'd declare it Sunday. Middle of the week didn't matter.
It was just Sunday yesterday. I didn't care. It could
be Sunday if I said so. The day had started
(20:58):
a bit gloomy, overcast and gray. It had rained the
night before, and the sidewalks were still wet. On Sundays,
I usually have a slow start, so I poured a
(21:20):
cup of coffee, took a blanket from the back of
the sofa, and stepped out onto the front porch. I
had spent the previous weekend setting up the furniture out here,
(21:42):
wiping down the slats in the swing and chairs, sweeping
out the corners, and plumping up the cushions and pillows
after letting them freshen in the sunshine for a few hours.
(22:04):
It was a bit chilly on the porch as I
settled on the swing and tossed the blanket over my legs.
It's a skill to drink hot coffee on a porch swing,
but I was an old hand. It was all about
(22:28):
getting settled first, then reaching for your cup from the
side table, and not trying to swing too vigorously until
half of it was gone. The school bus passed as
I sipped. They only had another week or so of
(22:53):
school before they let out for the summer. The bus
driver waved at me, and I could see in her
face that she was counting down the days as much
as the kids were. The sun began to creep out,
(23:19):
and I watched as the shadows the trees through grew crisper,
their lines starker. It seemed like we'd gone from a
few budded trees to full leaf everywhere overnight. The birds
(23:43):
song grew louder as they got their dose of sunlight,
and by the time my cup was empty, it seemed
like a different day than the one I'd woken up in.
(24:03):
I went inside, letting the screen door bang behind me,
and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. I opened the
windows and let the fresh air in. The bed was
(24:26):
rumpled after a good night's sleep, and I turned toward
it and pulled back the duvet. I always appreciate coming
back to a made bed, so most days I at
(24:47):
least straightened the blankets, but Since it was a Sunday
and I had all the time in the world, I
could do the job properly. I smoothed the sheets, retucking
(25:09):
them so that they were taut and neat. Then each
pillow got shaken out, flipped and shaken again, and placed
just so on the bed. Then the duvet also plumped
(25:34):
and shaken. I spread it out and folded back the
corner where I would slide in tonight for maybe this afternoon,
for a nap. It was something my mom always did
(25:57):
when she helped me make my bed when I was little.
Turning that corner down made the bed feel so inviting,
so cozy and welcoming. I was already looking forward to
(26:20):
getting back in next Sunday activity. I wanted to bake
something in the kitchen. I thumbed through cookbooks and the
handwritten cards in my recipe box. What to make? I
(26:48):
closed my eyes and rested my hand on my belly.
What did I want? What was I craving? Mm? Carrot cake?
(27:09):
I smiled with my eyes still closed. It sometimes seemed
silly to make a cake just for me. It wasn't
a birthday or a holiday, But then I remembered it
(27:34):
was a Sunday, and I hadn't had carrot cake in
a month of those, so I flipped through the cards
in the tin till I found a pasted down recipe
written in faded pencil. Of course, it had come from
(28:03):
that same dear aunt. I pushed the window open a
crack over the sink, and smelled lilacs on the breeze.
The sun was bright, the day was young, and I'd
(28:29):
be finishing it with a generous wedge of cake and
a made bed with the corner turned down. I smiled
into the breeze. I was happy. Sweet dreams
Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens,
you feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Catherine Nikolay.
I create everything you hear and nothing much happens with
(00:24):
audio engineering by Bob Witttersheim. We give to a different
charity each week, and this week we are giving to
Trio Animal Foundation. They assist shelters, rescues, and individuals by
paying the medical bills of homeless pets. Learn more about
(00:47):
them in our show notes. I am so happy to
introduce our newest way to unwind together then nothing much
happens wind Down Box. Each product inside has been chosen
with care from my personal favorites to enhance your evening
(01:09):
routine and ease you into a RESTful night. People often
ask me what I do to fall asleep? Who reads
to me? And these are the products I use at
night to make sure I fall asleep comfortably and stay asleep.
And it's like a little treasure box for relaxation. It
(01:34):
features a versio wellnesses chill now Rati extract for peace
and balance, delicious nutri champs, tart cherry gummies to support sleep,
a really great smelling calming lavender candle, from Vella Box. Also,
there's a delightful mini coloring book from a Brighter Year.
(01:58):
You can enjoy soothing chocolates infused with sleep supporting mushrooms
from Alice Mushrooms and their vegan and unwined with Woolsey's
Essential Oils. Plus, for those nights when you need a
little extra help, we have new strips Melatonin strips, super
quick and effective. To all of this, I added three
(02:22):
mini episodes designed to help you before bed, if you
wake in the middle of the night, and to start
the day off on the right foot, visit Nothing Much
Happens dot com or the link in our notes to
bring a piece of the village into your home with
our wind Down Box. Now, a mind that is gently
(02:47):
focused rather than wandering is not only more likely to
slip into sleep, it is naturally happier. I'm calmer, So
think of this as a way to train your brain
for bed, but also for a better day tomorrow. Just
(03:11):
by listening to the sound of my voice and following
along with the general shape of our story will activate
your task positive network and you will sleep. I'll tell
the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the
(03:31):
second time. Through If you're new to this, come with
some patience. You'll want to use the stories regularly for
at least a couple of weeks to get the best result.
Our story tonight is called A Month of Sundays, and
(03:52):
it's a story about finding a way to make time
for rest and enjoyment. It's also about a tin box
of recipe cards, a neatly made bed with the corner
folded down, ants and idioms, porch swings and school buses,
(04:14):
and the delight of one of the best days of
the week. Lights out. Campers, Snuggle down into your bed
and get as cozy and relaxed as you can. Wiggle
(04:36):
one foot into the cool corner of your sheets. Relax,
your jaw, soften any place where you are still holding
whatever today was like is what today was like. And
now we're here. Draw a deep breath in through your
(05:00):
knows and sigh from your mouth. Nice, let's do one
more breathe in and out. Good A month of Sundays.
(05:28):
There was a favorite phrase of one of my aunts,
something i'd hear her say as she gossiped with her
sisters while they sprawled across the sofa at my grandparents' house.
As in he couldn't win me over in a month
(05:50):
of Sundays, or at the table for some holiday dinner,
she'd leaned toward me and say, pass me that dish
of Grandma's potatoes. I haven't had them in a month
of Sundays. I thought of her whenever I heard it,
(06:14):
and sometimes said it as a way to invoke her,
to bring her confidence and tra de vive into what
I was doing or talking about for a while. Like
with many idioms I heard as a child, I didn't
(06:35):
completely or correctly grasp its meaning. I tended to take
those turns of phrase literally. So when someone talked about
beating about the bush, I worried about the bush. When
(06:56):
I heard in an old black and white Cops and
Robbers movie that somebody had better start talking turkey, I
was excited for the upcoming turkey cameo and wondered if
the ones I'd seen from the car window on a
long drive through the country spoke human as well. So likewise,
(07:23):
I thought, at some point in time, I'd flipped the
page on the calendar and come across the Sunday month,
a whole month of Sundays. I'd even asked about it.
When was it happening. My mom had smiled and explained
(07:46):
that it was just a saying, a way to say
a very long time. A month of Sundays meant enough
weeks for thirty or even thirty one Sundays to pass.
I think I'd nodded and gone away, still pretty confused,
(08:10):
when a bit disappointed, confused that anyone would pick that
way to say a long time, and disappointed that there
wasn't waiting for me a whole month when every day
(08:30):
would be a Sunday. As a grown up, I can't
say that I've ever been able to clear a whole
month to spend each day doing as I pleased, resting, reading, baking, gardening, napping.
(08:54):
But sometimes it's possible to fit an extra Sunday in
here and there. Some days my to do list would
get set aside, it would keep for a day, and
I would declare it a Sunday. Middle of the week
(09:19):
didn't matter. It was just Sunday yesterday. I didn't care.
It could be Sunday if I said so. Like today,
there was a rumor going around that it was actually Tuesday,
but I'd crossed that out on the calendar and written
(09:42):
over it in thick green marker Sunday, so clearly the
rumor mill can't be trusted. The day had started a
bit gloomy, over cast and gray. It had rained the
(10:04):
night before, and the sidewalks were still wet. On Sundays,
I usually have a slow start, so I poured a
cup of coffee, took a blanket from the back of
the sofa it stepped out onto the front porch. I'd
(10:27):
spent the previous weekend setting up the furniture out there,
white being down the slats and the swinging and chairs,
sweeping out the corners and plumping up the cushions and
pillows after letting them freshen and the sunshine for a
(10:48):
few hours. It was a bit chilly on the porch
as I settled on the swing and tossed the blanket
over my legs. It's a skill to drink hot coffee
on a porch swing, but I was an old hand.
(11:09):
It was all about getting settled first, then reaching for
your cup from the side table, and not trying to
swing too vigorously until half the cup was gone. The
school bus passed as I sipped. They only had another
(11:30):
week or so of school before they let out for
the summer. The bus driver waved at me, and I
could see in her face that she was counting down
the days as much as the kids were. The sun
(11:51):
began to creep out, and I watched as the shadows
the trees throw grew crisper lines starker. It seemed like
we'd gone from a few budded trees to full leaf
everywhere overnight. The bird's song grew louder as they got
(12:18):
their dose of sunlight, and by the time my cup
was empty, it seemed like a different day than the
one i'd woken up in. I went inside, letting the
screen door bang behind me, and climbed the stairs to
(12:40):
my bedroom. I opened the windows and let the fresh
air in. The bed was rumpled after a good night's sleep,
and I turned toward it and pulled back the duvet.
I always appreciate coming back to a made bed, so
(13:04):
most days I at least straightened the blankets. But since
it was a Sunday and I had all the time
in the world, I could do the job properly. I
smoothed the sheets, retucking them so they were taut and neat.
(13:30):
Then each pillow got shaken, flipped and shaken again, and
placed just so on the bed and the douvet also
plumped and shaken. Went on, and I folded back the
corner where I would slide in tonight or maybe this
(13:54):
afternoon for a nap. It was something my mom always
did when she helped me make my bed when I
was little. Turning that corner down made the bad feel
so inviting, so cozy and welcoming. I was already looking
(14:20):
forward to getting back in next Sunday activity. I wanted
to bake something in the kitchen. I thumbed through cookbooks
and the handwritten cards in my recipe box. What to make?
(14:45):
I closed my eyes and rested my hand on my belly.
What did I want? What was I craving? Oh? Carrot cake?
I smiled with my eyes still closed. But sometimes seemed
(15:06):
silly to make a cake just for me. Wasn't any
one's birthday or holiday. But then I remembered it was
a Sunday, and I hadn't had carrot cake in a
month of those. So I flipped through the cards in
(15:27):
the tin till I found a past down recipe written
in faded pencil. Of course it had come from that
dear aunt. I pushed the window open a crack over
the sink and smelled lilacs on the breeze. The sun
(15:53):
was bright, the day was young, and I'd be finishing
it with a generous wedge of cake and a maid
bed with the corner turned down. I smiled into the breeze.
I was happy a month of Sundays. It was a
(16:22):
favorite phrase of one of my aunts, something i'd hear
her say as she gossiped with her sisters while they
sprawled across the sofa at my grandparents house, as in,
he couldn't win me over in a month of Sundays,
(16:47):
or at the table for some holiday dinner, she'd lean
towards me and say, pass me that dish of Grandma's potatoes.
I haven't had them in a month of Sundays. I
thought of her or whenever I heard it, and sometimes
(17:11):
said it as a way to invoke her, to bring
her confidence and jois de vive into what I was
doing or talking about for a while. Like with many
idioms I heard as a child, I didn't completely or
(17:33):
correctly grasp the meaning. I tended to take those turns
of phrase literally. So when someone talked about beating about
the bush, I worried about the Bush. When I heard
(17:54):
in an old black and white Cups and Robbers movie
that somebody had better start talking turkey. I was excited
for the upcoming turkey cameo and wondered if the ones
I'd seen from the car window on a long drive
(18:16):
through the country spoke human as well. So likewise, I thought.
At some point I'd flipped the page on the calendar
and come across the Sunday month, a whole month of Sundays.
(18:41):
I'd even asked about it, when was it happening? My
mom had smiled and explained that it was just a saying,
a way to say a very long time. Month of
(19:03):
Sundays meant enough weeks for thirty or even thirty one
Sundays to pass. I think I'd nodded and gone away,
still pretty confused and a bit disappointed, confused that anyone
(19:25):
would pick that way to say a long time, and
disappointed that there wasn't waiting for me a whole month
when every day would be a Sunday. As a grown up,
(19:49):
I can't say that I've ever been able to clear
a whole month to spend each day doing as I pleased, resting, reading, baking, gardening, napping.
(20:14):
But sometimes it's possible to fit an extra Sunday in
here and there. Some days my to do list would
get set aside, it would keep for a day, and
(20:35):
I'd declare it Sunday. Middle of the week didn't matter.
It was just Sunday yesterday. I didn't care. It could
be Sunday if I said so. The day had started
(20:58):
a bit gloomy, overcast and gray. It had rained the
night before, and the sidewalks were still wet. On Sundays,
I usually have a slow start, so I poured a
(21:20):
cup of coffee, took a blanket from the back of
the sofa, and stepped out onto the front porch. I
had spent the previous weekend setting up the furniture out here,
(21:42):
wiping down the slats in the swing and chairs, sweeping
out the corners, and plumping up the cushions and pillows
after letting them freshen in the sunshine for a few hours.
(22:04):
It was a bit chilly on the porch as I
settled on the swing and tossed the blanket over my legs.
It's a skill to drink hot coffee on a porch swing,
but I was an old hand. It was all about
(22:28):
getting settled first, then reaching for your cup from the
side table, and not trying to swing too vigorously until
half of it was gone. The school bus passed as
I sipped. They only had another week or so of
(22:53):
school before they let out for the summer. The bus
driver waved at me, and I could see in her
face that she was counting down the days as much
as the kids were. The sun began to creep out,
(23:19):
and I watched as the shadows the trees through grew crisper,
their lines starker. It seemed like we'd gone from a
few budded trees to full leaf everywhere overnight. The birds
(23:43):
song grew louder as they got their dose of sunlight,
and by the time my cup was empty, it seemed
like a different day than the one I'd woken up in.
(24:03):
I went inside, letting the screen door bang behind me,
and climbed the stairs to my bedroom. I opened the
windows and let the fresh air in. The bed was
(24:26):
rumpled after a good night's sleep, and I turned toward
it and pulled back the duvet. I always appreciate coming
back to a made bed, so most days I at
(24:47):
least straightened the blankets, but Since it was a Sunday
and I had all the time in the world, I
could do the job properly. I smoothed the sheets, retucking
(25:09):
them so that they were taut and neat. Then each
pillow got shaken out, flipped and shaken again, and placed
just so on the bed. Then the duvet also plumped
(25:34):
and shaken. I spread it out and folded back the
corner where I would slide in tonight for maybe this afternoon,
for a nap. It was something my mom always did
(25:57):
when she helped me make my bed when I was little.
Turning that corner down made the bed feel so inviting,
so cozy and welcoming. I was already looking forward to
(26:20):
getting back in next Sunday activity. I wanted to bake
something in the kitchen. I thumbed through cookbooks and the
handwritten cards in my recipe box. What to make? I
(26:48):
closed my eyes and rested my hand on my belly.
What did I want? What was I craving? Mm? Carrot cake?
(27:09):
I smiled with my eyes still closed. It sometimes seemed
silly to make a cake just for me. It wasn't
a birthday or a holiday, But then I remembered it
(27:34):
was a Sunday, and I hadn't had carrot cake in
a month of those, so I flipped through the cards
in the tin till I found a pasted down recipe
written in faded pencil. Of course, it had come from
(28:03):
that same dear aunt. I pushed the window open a
crack over the sink, and smelled lilacs on the breeze.
The sun was bright, the day was young, and I'd
(28:29):
be finishing it with a generous wedge of cake and
a made bed with the corner turned down. I smiled
into the breeze. I was happy. Sweet dreams
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