March 25, 2024 • 30 mins
Our story tonight is called On the Rooftop, and it’s a story about the giddy first flush of real spring weather. It’s also about baseball cards tucked into bike spokes, the benefits of small talk, barbecue grills lighting up for the first time in months and the joy of seeing the world from a new perspective.
We give to a different charity each week, and as a proud Flintstone, I’m glad that this week, we are giving to Shelter of Flint. Working for safe housing, independence, and stability.
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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 on nothing much happens. Audio
(00:24):
Engineering is by Bob Witttersheim. We give to a different
charity each week, and as a proud Flintstone, I'm glad
that this week we are giving to Shelter of Flint
Working for safe housing, independence and stability. Learn more about
(00:45):
them in our show notes. If you need more nothing
much in your life, more episodes, zero ads, extra long episodes,
you can subscribe to our premium. It works out too
about a dime a day, and it helps us continue
(01:06):
to bring you bedtime stories. We've got a link in
our show notes, or you can search NMH Premium on
Apple podcasts. Now Here's how this works. We need a
little bridge to guide us from our busy brains into sleep.
(01:30):
It's too far to jump, you see. So my story
will be that bridge, winding you down, giving you something
soft and simple to focus on, and before you know it,
probably before I finish the story, you will be asleep.
(01:54):
I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little slower.
The second time through. If you wake later in the night,
turn the story back on, or think your way through
any part of it that you can remember. Often, just
getting one foot back on that bridge will send you
(02:19):
right back to sleep. Our story tonight is called on
the Rooftop, and it's a story about the giddy first
flush of real spring weather. It's also about baseball cards
tucked into bike spokes, the benefits of small talk, barbecue
(02:44):
grills lighting up for the first time in months, and
the joy of seeing the world from a new perspective.
Now lights out, devices down, babies, Snuggle deep into your sheets,
(03:08):
get comfortable, get the right pillow in the right spot,
and let your whole body relax. There is nothing left
to do today. I promise you did enough. I'll be
(03:29):
here a voice in the darkness, even after you've fallen asleep.
Take a deep breath in through your nose and sigh
from your mouth. Nice, Do that one more time, inhale
(03:55):
and let it out good. On the rooftop. The sign
over the shop door was creaking in the wind. I'd
made it myself when this place was mostly still a
(04:21):
dream in my basement workshop. I designed and assembled it
from old bike parts, A pair of handlebars and a
wire basket, part of a frame so that the bike
seemed to be coming straight out of the brick facade,
(04:45):
and a carved plaque with a name outlined in roller chain.
I still remember the day I had gotten to install it,
when the ink was dry on the leaf and an
opening date was set. I'd been up on a ladder
(05:09):
on the front sidewalk, a friend handing me tools as
passers by smiled and pointed out the new shop to
each other. When it had finally been secured, the wooden
plaque hanging from the bike basket, I'd heard applause and
(05:34):
turned to see the staff of the flower shop opposite
clapping from their front step. It was a memory that
always made me smile, as it did now, looking up
from inside at the plaque shifting in the wind. There
(05:59):
were only a few clouds in the sky today, and
the sunshine was plentiful and warm. I pushed the shop
door open and stepped out into the wind. I was
pleasantly surprised. I'd expected cold, sunny, but cold weather, the
(06:28):
kind that we'd had for the last few weeks that
hinted at but never really felt my spring. Instead, it
was warm, like actually warm, and it smelled different for weeks.
(06:54):
When I had left the house in the morning or
closed the shop in the evening, it smelled the scent
of winter runoff, damp and inorganic kind of blank space smell.
Now that blank space was full of sweetness, first flowers
(07:20):
and plants, the way the skin of your inner elbow
smells when you've been driving with the window down and
your arm slung out. I pushed the door open all
the way and propped it in place with an old
(07:43):
brick I'd found in the back room. I rolled a
couple of bikes out onto the sidewalk, opening their kickstands
and turning the handlebars so that the baskets to to
toward the street. I even tucked a note in one
(08:07):
of the baskets with big letters that said ring me,
knowing that most people wouldn't be able to pass by
the bike bells without taking them for a spin. I
liked reminding my customers that riding a bike is meant
(08:32):
to be fun. I kept stacks of baseball cards and
decks of playing cards beside the register and regularly helped
to weave them into the spokes of little and big bikes. Alike.
(08:52):
When I heard the thrilling, high speed slap of those
cards as riders bed through town, I was truly proud
to have helped them do something just for the fun
of it. As the day went by, each customer who
(09:16):
came in remarked on the weather, and I didn't get
tired of agreeing that, yes, it was glorious that it
did indeed seem that spring was at our door. Some
(09:38):
people are bothered by that sort of small talk, but
I kind of liked it. I'd read once that small
talk serves a purpose a few Actually, it's a way
to make a connection with someone. It can open a
(10:01):
door to a deeper connection. It helps to communicate mood
and affinity, and it makes us better listeners. I smiled
thinking of ancient ancestors helping to build language as we
(10:21):
know it now, to build community and culture, and how
much of it came from just talking to each other
about the weather. Several folks brought in their bikes for
tune ups, and I had a row of them in
(10:47):
the workshop to work on during the week. I also
did a couple easy fixes of loose chains and leaky tires,
sold a helmet, put a special order in for a
(11:07):
road bike and printed out posters for our first group
ride of the year at closing time. When I stepped
outside to wheel the bikes on the sidewalk back in,
the day was still lovely. Sunset had been creeping later
(11:32):
and later, and it felt so nice knowing that I
still had several hours of light left. I was wondering
what to do with them when I heard someone call
my name from across the street. They were closing up
(11:54):
at the flower Shop as well, taking in the sidewalks
up and sweeping loose leaves and petals from the front step.
I waved, and one of them hurried over the broom
in her hand. We're going up on the roof to
(12:18):
enjoy the weather for a bit. The record store guys
are coming too. Why don't you come up. I shaded
my eyes with my hand and looked up at the
top of the flower Shop. It was just two stories.
(12:39):
An old fire escape climbed its side, leading to the roof,
where I already saw a couple of downtown workers I recognized.
Looking out over the village, the spring breezes were bringing
(13:00):
out the kid in all of us, and remembering my
own ethos for fun, I agreed immediately, saying I just
needed to lock up and i'd be there. She smiled
(13:20):
and ran back across the street to finish her sweeping.
I rolled the bikes inside and parked them in the
front window. Not liking to show up anywhere empty handed,
(13:40):
I went into the back to see if I had
anything shareable in my fridge. Luckily, I was well stocked.
I had a fresh six pack of orange soda and
a box of cookies from the bakery. I peeked in
(14:05):
the box. They were pistachio shortbread. I thought that would
go perfect with sunshine and a view. I locked up
the shop, balancing the cookies and the sodas, and walked
across the street to head up onto the roof. The
(14:30):
flower shop. Crew were climbing up the fire escape as
I arrived, and the woman who had invited me her broom,
now stashed in its cupboard, came down a few steps
to carry the sodas. I was relieved to feel the
(14:53):
steps of the fire escape or secure and steady underneath me,
and as I reached the top, even though we were
only on a two story building, I couldn't believe how
lovely the view was. I could see all of down
(15:15):
town and into the park. At the end of Main Street,
there were a few chairs and an old picnic table,
where I set out my contributions to our impromptu gathering.
(15:35):
But I wanted to keep looking out, feeling the breeze
and sun, so I slowly circled around the rooftop. People
were lighting their grills in the neighborhoods, and I could
smell charcoal. There must have been a movie just getting
(16:00):
over at the theater, and I could see people coming
out of the doors, spilling onto the sidewalk. The cafes
outdoor tables were full, and the diner looked busy too.
Someone turned down a radio summertime music played, and underneath
(16:27):
it I could hear the clickety clack of cards in
spokes from somewhere down on the street. What fun on
the rooftop. The sign over the shop door was creaking
(16:50):
in the wind. I'd made it myself, when this place
was mostly still a dream in my basement workshop. I
designed and assembled it from old bike parts, a pair
(17:14):
of handlebars and a wire basket, part of a frame
so that the bike seemed to be coming straight out
of the brick facade, and a carved black with a
name outlined and roller chain. I still remember the day
(17:38):
i'd gotten to install it, when the ink was dry
on the lease and an opening date was set. I'd
been up on a ladder on the front sidewalk, a
friend handing me tools as passers by smiled and pointed
(18:03):
out the new shop to each other. When it had
finally been secured, the wooden plaque hanging from the bike basket,
I'd heard applause and turned to see the staff of
the flower shop opposite clapping from their front step. It
(18:32):
was a memory that always made me smile, as I
did now looking up from inside at the plaque shifting
in the wind. There were only a few clouds in
the sky to day, and the sunshine was plentiful and warm.
(18:57):
I pushed the shop door open and stepped out into
the wind. I was pleasantly surprised. I'd expected cold, sunny,
but cold weather, the kind we'd had for the last
(19:17):
few weeks that hinted at but never really felt like spring. Instead,
it was warm, like actually warm, and it smelled different.
(19:40):
For weeks, when i'd left the house in the morning
or closed the shop in the evening, i'd smelled the
scent of winter runoff, damp and inorganic, a kind of
(20:02):
blank space smell. Now that blank space was full of sweetness,
first flowers and plants, the way the skin of your
inner elbow smells when you've been driving with the window
(20:28):
down and your arm slung out. I pushed the door
open all the way and propped it in place with
an old brick I'd found in the back room. I
(20:50):
rolled a couple of bikes out onto the sidewalk, opening
their kickstands and turning their hands bars so that the
baskets tilted toward the street. I even tucked a note
(21:11):
in one of the baskets with big letters that said
ring me. Knowing that most people wouldn't be able to
pass by the bike bells without taking them for a spin.
(21:32):
I liked reminding my customers that riding a bike it's
meant to be fun. I kept stacks of baseball cards
on decks of playing cards beside the register and regularly
(21:55):
helped to weave them into the spokes of little and
big bikes alike. When I heard the thrilling, high speed
slap of those cards as riders sped through town, I
(22:16):
was truly proud to have helped them do something just
for the fun of it. As the day went by,
each customer who came in remarked on the weather, and
I didn't get tired of agreeing that, yes, it was
(22:43):
glorious that it did seem that spring was at our door.
Some people are bothered by that sort of small talk,
but I kind of liked it. I'd read once that
(23:07):
small talk serves a purpose a few Actually, it's a
way to make a connection with someone, and it can
open a door to a deeper connection. It helps to
communicate mood and affinity. It makes us better listeners. I
(23:37):
smiled thinking of ancient ancestors helping to build language as
we know it now, to build community and culture, and
how much of it came from just talking to each
other about the weather. Several folks brought in their bikes
(24:04):
for tune ups when I had a row of them
in the workshop to work on during the week. I
also did a couple easy fixes of loose chains and
leaky tires, sold a helmet, put a special order in
(24:28):
for a road bike, and printed out posters for our
first group ride of the year. At closing time, when
I stepped outside to wheel the bikes on the sidewalk
back in the day was still lovely. Sunset had been
(24:54):
creeping later and later, and it felt so nice knowing
I still had several hours of light left. I was
wondering what to do with them when I heard someone
call my name from across the street. They were closing
(25:20):
up at the flower shop as well, taking in the
sidewalk sign and sweeping loose leaves and petals from their
front step. I waved, and one of them hurried over
the broom in her hand. We're going up onto the
(25:46):
roof to enjoy the weather for a bit. The record
store guys are coming to Why don't you come up.
I shaded my eyes with my hand and looked up
at the top of the flower shop. It was just
(26:10):
two stories. An old fire escape climbed its side, leading
to the roof, where I already saw a couple of
downtown workers I recognized looking out over the village. The
(26:32):
spring breezes were bringing out the kid in all of us,
and remembering my own ethos for fun, I agreed immediately,
saying I just needed to lock up and I'd be there.
(26:55):
She smiled and ran back across the street to finish
her sweeping. I rolled the bikes inside and parked them
in the front window. Not liking to show up anywhere
empty handed, I went into the back to see if
(27:19):
I had anything shareable in my fridge. Luckily, I was
well stocked. I had a fresh six pack of orange
soda and a box of cookies from the bakery. I
(27:39):
peeked in the box. They were pistachio shortbread. I thought
they would go perfect with sunshine and a view. I
locked up the shop, balancing the cookies and the sodas,
(28:02):
and walked across the street to head up onto the roof.
The flower shop. Crew were climbing up the fire escape
as I arrived. An woman who had invited me her broom,
now stashed in its cupboard, came down a few steps
(28:24):
to carry the sodas. I was relieved to feel the
steps of the fire escape were secure and study underneath me,
and as I reached the top, even though we were
(28:45):
only on a two story building, I couldn't believe how
lovely the view was. I could see all of downtown
and into the park. At the end of Main Street.
There were a few chairs and an old picnic table,
(29:09):
where I set out my contributions to our impromptu gathering,
but I wanted to keep looking out, feeling the breeze
and sun, so I slowly circled around the rooftop. People
(29:32):
were lighting their grills in the neighborhoods, and I could
smell charcoal. There must have been a movie just getting
over at the theater, and I could see people coming
out of their doors, spilling onto the sidewalks, the cafes,
(29:56):
outdoor tables, or fall and the diner looked busy too.
Some one turned down a radio summer time music played,
and underneath it I could hear the clickety clack of
cards in spokes from somewhere down on the street. What fun,
(30:28):
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 on nothing much happens. Audio
(00:24):
Engineering is by Bob Witttersheim. We give to a different
charity each week, and as a proud Flintstone, I'm glad
that this week we are giving to Shelter of Flint
Working for safe housing, independence and stability. Learn more about
(00:45):
them in our show notes. If you need more nothing
much in your life, more episodes, zero ads, extra long episodes,
you can subscribe to our premium. It works out too
about a dime a day, and it helps us continue
(01:06):
to bring you bedtime stories. We've got a link in
our show notes, or you can search NMH Premium on
Apple podcasts. Now Here's how this works. We need a
little bridge to guide us from our busy brains into sleep.
(01:30):
It's too far to jump, you see. So my story
will be that bridge, winding you down, giving you something
soft and simple to focus on, and before you know it,
probably before I finish the story, you will be asleep.
(01:54):
I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little slower.
The second time through. If you wake later in the night,
turn the story back on, or think your way through
any part of it that you can remember. Often, just
getting one foot back on that bridge will send you
(02:19):
right back to sleep. Our story tonight is called on
the Rooftop, and it's a story about the giddy first
flush of real spring weather. It's also about baseball cards
tucked into bike spokes, the benefits of small talk, barbecue
(02:44):
grills lighting up for the first time in months, and
the joy of seeing the world from a new perspective.
Now lights out, devices down, babies, Snuggle deep into your sheets,
(03:08):
get comfortable, get the right pillow in the right spot,
and let your whole body relax. There is nothing left
to do today. I promise you did enough. I'll be
(03:29):
here a voice in the darkness, even after you've fallen asleep.
Take a deep breath in through your nose and sigh
from your mouth. Nice, Do that one more time, inhale
(03:55):
and let it out good. On the rooftop. The sign
over the shop door was creaking in the wind. I'd
made it myself when this place was mostly still a
(04:21):
dream in my basement workshop. I designed and assembled it
from old bike parts, A pair of handlebars and a
wire basket, part of a frame so that the bike
seemed to be coming straight out of the brick facade,
(04:45):
and a carved plaque with a name outlined in roller chain.
I still remember the day I had gotten to install it,
when the ink was dry on the leaf and an
opening date was set. I'd been up on a ladder
(05:09):
on the front sidewalk, a friend handing me tools as
passers by smiled and pointed out the new shop to
each other. When it had finally been secured, the wooden
plaque hanging from the bike basket, I'd heard applause and
(05:34):
turned to see the staff of the flower shop opposite
clapping from their front step. It was a memory that
always made me smile, as it did now, looking up
from inside at the plaque shifting in the wind. There
(05:59):
were only a few clouds in the sky today, and
the sunshine was plentiful and warm. I pushed the shop
door open and stepped out into the wind. I was
pleasantly surprised. I'd expected cold, sunny, but cold weather, the
(06:28):
kind that we'd had for the last few weeks that
hinted at but never really felt my spring. Instead, it
was warm, like actually warm, and it smelled different for weeks.
(06:54):
When I had left the house in the morning or
closed the shop in the evening, it smelled the scent
of winter runoff, damp and inorganic kind of blank space smell.
Now that blank space was full of sweetness, first flowers
(07:20):
and plants, the way the skin of your inner elbow
smells when you've been driving with the window down and
your arm slung out. I pushed the door open all
the way and propped it in place with an old
(07:43):
brick I'd found in the back room. I rolled a
couple of bikes out onto the sidewalk, opening their kickstands
and turning the handlebars so that the baskets to to
toward the street. I even tucked a note in one
(08:07):
of the baskets with big letters that said ring me,
knowing that most people wouldn't be able to pass by
the bike bells without taking them for a spin. I
liked reminding my customers that riding a bike is meant
(08:32):
to be fun. I kept stacks of baseball cards and
decks of playing cards beside the register and regularly helped
to weave them into the spokes of little and big bikes. Alike.
(08:52):
When I heard the thrilling, high speed slap of those
cards as riders bed through town, I was truly proud
to have helped them do something just for the fun
of it. As the day went by, each customer who
(09:16):
came in remarked on the weather, and I didn't get
tired of agreeing that, yes, it was glorious that it
did indeed seem that spring was at our door. Some
(09:38):
people are bothered by that sort of small talk, but
I kind of liked it. I'd read once that small
talk serves a purpose a few Actually, it's a way
to make a connection with someone. It can open a
(10:01):
door to a deeper connection. It helps to communicate mood
and affinity, and it makes us better listeners. I smiled
thinking of ancient ancestors helping to build language as we
(10:21):
know it now, to build community and culture, and how
much of it came from just talking to each other
about the weather. Several folks brought in their bikes for
tune ups, and I had a row of them in
(10:47):
the workshop to work on during the week. I also
did a couple easy fixes of loose chains and leaky tires,
sold a helmet, put a special order in for a
(11:07):
road bike and printed out posters for our first group
ride of the year at closing time. When I stepped
outside to wheel the bikes on the sidewalk back in,
the day was still lovely. Sunset had been creeping later
(11:32):
and later, and it felt so nice knowing that I
still had several hours of light left. I was wondering
what to do with them when I heard someone call
my name from across the street. They were closing up
(11:54):
at the flower Shop as well, taking in the sidewalks
up and sweeping loose leaves and petals from the front step.
I waved, and one of them hurried over the broom
in her hand. We're going up on the roof to
(12:18):
enjoy the weather for a bit. The record store guys
are coming too. Why don't you come up. I shaded
my eyes with my hand and looked up at the
top of the flower Shop. It was just two stories.
(12:39):
An old fire escape climbed its side, leading to the roof,
where I already saw a couple of downtown workers I recognized.
Looking out over the village, the spring breezes were bringing
(13:00):
out the kid in all of us, and remembering my
own ethos for fun, I agreed immediately, saying I just
needed to lock up and i'd be there. She smiled
(13:20):
and ran back across the street to finish her sweeping.
I rolled the bikes inside and parked them in the
front window. Not liking to show up anywhere empty handed,
(13:40):
I went into the back to see if I had
anything shareable in my fridge. Luckily, I was well stocked.
I had a fresh six pack of orange soda and
a box of cookies from the bakery. I peeked in
(14:05):
the box. They were pistachio shortbread. I thought that would
go perfect with sunshine and a view. I locked up
the shop, balancing the cookies and the sodas, and walked
across the street to head up onto the roof. The
(14:30):
flower shop. Crew were climbing up the fire escape as
I arrived, and the woman who had invited me her broom,
now stashed in its cupboard, came down a few steps
to carry the sodas. I was relieved to feel the
(14:53):
steps of the fire escape or secure and steady underneath me,
and as I reached the top, even though we were
only on a two story building, I couldn't believe how
lovely the view was. I could see all of down
(15:15):
town and into the park. At the end of Main Street,
there were a few chairs and an old picnic table,
where I set out my contributions to our impromptu gathering.
(15:35):
But I wanted to keep looking out, feeling the breeze
and sun, so I slowly circled around the rooftop. People
were lighting their grills in the neighborhoods, and I could
smell charcoal. There must have been a movie just getting
(16:00):
over at the theater, and I could see people coming
out of the doors, spilling onto the sidewalk. The cafes
outdoor tables were full, and the diner looked busy too.
Someone turned down a radio summertime music played, and underneath
(16:27):
it I could hear the clickety clack of cards in
spokes from somewhere down on the street. What fun on
the rooftop. The sign over the shop door was creaking
(16:50):
in the wind. I'd made it myself, when this place
was mostly still a dream in my basement workshop. I
designed and assembled it from old bike parts, a pair
(17:14):
of handlebars and a wire basket, part of a frame
so that the bike seemed to be coming straight out
of the brick facade, and a carved black with a
name outlined and roller chain. I still remember the day
(17:38):
i'd gotten to install it, when the ink was dry
on the lease and an opening date was set. I'd
been up on a ladder on the front sidewalk, a
friend handing me tools as passers by smiled and pointed
(18:03):
out the new shop to each other. When it had
finally been secured, the wooden plaque hanging from the bike basket,
I'd heard applause and turned to see the staff of
the flower shop opposite clapping from their front step. It
(18:32):
was a memory that always made me smile, as I
did now looking up from inside at the plaque shifting
in the wind. There were only a few clouds in
the sky to day, and the sunshine was plentiful and warm.
(18:57):
I pushed the shop door open and stepped out into
the wind. I was pleasantly surprised. I'd expected cold, sunny,
but cold weather, the kind we'd had for the last
(19:17):
few weeks that hinted at but never really felt like spring. Instead,
it was warm, like actually warm, and it smelled different.
(19:40):
For weeks, when i'd left the house in the morning
or closed the shop in the evening, i'd smelled the
scent of winter runoff, damp and inorganic, a kind of
(20:02):
blank space smell. Now that blank space was full of sweetness,
first flowers and plants, the way the skin of your
inner elbow smells when you've been driving with the window
(20:28):
down and your arm slung out. I pushed the door
open all the way and propped it in place with
an old brick I'd found in the back room. I
(20:50):
rolled a couple of bikes out onto the sidewalk, opening
their kickstands and turning their hands bars so that the
baskets tilted toward the street. I even tucked a note
(21:11):
in one of the baskets with big letters that said
ring me. Knowing that most people wouldn't be able to
pass by the bike bells without taking them for a spin.
(21:32):
I liked reminding my customers that riding a bike it's
meant to be fun. I kept stacks of baseball cards
on decks of playing cards beside the register and regularly
(21:55):
helped to weave them into the spokes of little and
big bikes alike. When I heard the thrilling, high speed
slap of those cards as riders sped through town, I
(22:16):
was truly proud to have helped them do something just
for the fun of it. As the day went by,
each customer who came in remarked on the weather, and
I didn't get tired of agreeing that, yes, it was
(22:43):
glorious that it did seem that spring was at our door.
Some people are bothered by that sort of small talk,
but I kind of liked it. I'd read once that
(23:07):
small talk serves a purpose a few Actually, it's a
way to make a connection with someone, and it can
open a door to a deeper connection. It helps to
communicate mood and affinity. It makes us better listeners. I
(23:37):
smiled thinking of ancient ancestors helping to build language as
we know it now, to build community and culture, and
how much of it came from just talking to each
other about the weather. Several folks brought in their bikes
(24:04):
for tune ups when I had a row of them
in the workshop to work on during the week. I
also did a couple easy fixes of loose chains and
leaky tires, sold a helmet, put a special order in
(24:28):
for a road bike, and printed out posters for our
first group ride of the year. At closing time, when
I stepped outside to wheel the bikes on the sidewalk
back in the day was still lovely. Sunset had been
(24:54):
creeping later and later, and it felt so nice knowing
I still had several hours of light left. I was
wondering what to do with them when I heard someone
call my name from across the street. They were closing
(25:20):
up at the flower shop as well, taking in the
sidewalk sign and sweeping loose leaves and petals from their
front step. I waved, and one of them hurried over
the broom in her hand. We're going up onto the
(25:46):
roof to enjoy the weather for a bit. The record
store guys are coming to Why don't you come up.
I shaded my eyes with my hand and looked up
at the top of the flower shop. It was just
(26:10):
two stories. An old fire escape climbed its side, leading
to the roof, where I already saw a couple of
downtown workers I recognized looking out over the village. The
(26:32):
spring breezes were bringing out the kid in all of us,
and remembering my own ethos for fun, I agreed immediately,
saying I just needed to lock up and I'd be there.
(26:55):
She smiled and ran back across the street to finish
her sweeping. I rolled the bikes inside and parked them
in the front window. Not liking to show up anywhere
empty handed, I went into the back to see if
(27:19):
I had anything shareable in my fridge. Luckily, I was
well stocked. I had a fresh six pack of orange
soda and a box of cookies from the bakery. I
(27:39):
peeked in the box. They were pistachio shortbread. I thought
they would go perfect with sunshine and a view. I
locked up the shop, balancing the cookies and the sodas,
(28:02):
and walked across the street to head up onto the roof.
The flower shop. Crew were climbing up the fire escape
as I arrived. An woman who had invited me her broom,
now stashed in its cupboard, came down a few steps
(28:24):
to carry the sodas. I was relieved to feel the
steps of the fire escape were secure and study underneath me,
and as I reached the top, even though we were
(28:45):
only on a two story building, I couldn't believe how
lovely the view was. I could see all of downtown
and into the park. At the end of Main Street.
There were a few chairs and an old picnic table,
(29:09):
where I set out my contributions to our impromptu gathering,
but I wanted to keep looking out, feeling the breeze
and sun, so I slowly circled around the rooftop. People
(29:32):
were lighting their grills in the neighborhoods, and I could
smell charcoal. There must have been a movie just getting
over at the theater, and I could see people coming
out of their doors, spilling onto the sidewalks, the cafes,
(29:56):
outdoor tables, or fall and the diner looked busy too.
Some one turned down a radio summer time music played,
and underneath it I could hear the clickety clack of
cards in spokes from somewhere down on the street. What fun,
(30:28):
sweet dreams.
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