March 18, 2024 • 30 mins
Our story tonight is called Out Like a Lamb, and it’s a story about the changeable month of March and a day spent enjoying a bit of both winter and spring. It’s also about a book read in the bath, the luxury of a slow start to the day, sunlight warming the floorboards, a pot of pansies dusted with snow, and making peace with a bit of chaos, in and out.
We give to a different charity each week, and this week, we are giving to Bat Conservation International. Their work is to conserve the world’s bats and their ecosystems to ensure a healthy planet.
Subscribe for ad-free, bonus, and extra-long episodes now, as well as ad-free and early episodes of Stories from the Village of Nothing Much! Search for the NMH Premium channel on Apple Podcasts or follow the link: https://www.nothingmuchhappens.com/premium-subscription
Listen to our new show, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much, on your favorite
podcast app.
Purchase Our Book: https://bit.ly/Nothing-Much-Happens
See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.
Mark as Played
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 read and write all the stories you hear, and
(00:23):
nothing much happens. Audio Engineering is by Bob Witttersheim. We
give to a different charity each week, and this week
we are giving to Bat Conservation International. Their work is
to conserve the world's bats and their ecosystems to ensure
(00:43):
a healthy planet. Learn more about them in our show notes.
Thank you to our premium subscribers, who make what we
do possible for just ten cents a day. I feel
like an NPR pledge driver when I say that, but
(01:04):
really just ten cents. You can get our full catalog
of Bedtime Stories, hundreds of episodes, plus about thirty five
exclusive bonus stories, Extra Long, Slightly More Happens, epps, all
completely ad free, and the satisfaction of knowing that you
(01:27):
are helping to keep NMH available for everyone. You can
subscribe through the link in our bio or by searching
NMH Premium on Apple podcasts. Now. I have a story
to tell you. It is sort of like a lullaby,
(01:49):
and if you let it, it will rock your thinking
mind to sleep. Story is simple. Not much happens in it,
and that is the idea. Just by listening, we'll be
able to shift some activity in your brain from the
static background noise of your default mode to the soothing
(02:14):
focus of task positive mode, and that's where sleep can happen.
I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little
slower the second time through. If you wake in the
night and feel your brain start to kick back on,
(02:34):
don't hesitate to start the story again. The effects of
this conditioning will improve with practice, so be patient if
you're new to it. Our story tonight is called out
like a Lamb, and it's a story about the changeable
(02:56):
month of March and today spent enjoying a bit of
both winter and spring. It's also about a book read
in the bath, the luxury of a slow start to
the day, sunlight warming the floorboards, a pot of pansies
(03:17):
dusted with snow, and making peace with a bit of
chaos inside and out. Now switch off your light and
slide down into your sheets. Anything that feels good in
(03:38):
this moment, please notice it, Please let it sink in.
You are in your bed. You are about to have
a great night's sleep, and when you wake tomorrow you'll
feel rested and ready. Let's take a deep breath in
(04:04):
through the nose and sigh from your mouth. Do that
one more time inhale and let it out, good, out
(04:31):
like a lamb. March is wild and never changing. Sweet
mild spring one hour, a howling gale of snow and
ice the next. I liked her unpredictability, how unapologetic she
(04:55):
was when she turned on a dime and changed herself
completely in an afternoon. I'd heard once that each person
is a string of DNA that would take over a
century to recite. So I imagine that if we feel complicated
(05:20):
at times, like we hold zones of temperate and inclement
weather within ourselves, that they sometimes overlap and emerge on
their own schedule. Well, that adds up. The morning had
(05:42):
come in like a lion. When I'd pushed aside the
curtains in my bedroom, I'd found a few inches of
fresh snow spread over the yard, and more falling fast
behind it. The winter aconite, with its tiny yellow flowers
(06:06):
that had appeared a week before. Around the roots of
the pine trees were covered with white while they had
been beautiful. I had to admit this snowfall was as well.
It slowed me down in a real literal way. I
(06:32):
stopped and breathed, spent time just looking. I'd had a
plan in the back of my mind to dress and
head into town to spend the morning running errands, but
(06:52):
suddenly none of that sounded pressing or appealing, and if
the roads were slick, it seemed a silly risk to
take in order to return some library books and stand
in line at the post office. No, I should stay
(07:18):
tucked in at home, bundle up and enjoy watching the
snow come down. It hadn't really taken much time to
convince myself of this. I was still standing in front
of the window with the curtain in my hand. A
(07:42):
gust of wind blew a thick wave of flakes against
the panes, and I could feel the chill of it
on my skin. I could get back into bed. That
was always a lovely option. But I thought about another
(08:06):
that I rarely took but would feel so good right now.
A morning bath. Oh, a morning bath. It sets the
perfect tone for a day when you don't have to
(08:27):
rush off to anything. It says today we are going slow.
I stepped into the bathroom and opened the tap over
the tub. In the cabinet, I looked through the bottles
(08:50):
and jars. I had some ups and salts good for
soaking when my body was achy, as well as a
jar a friend had gifted me with rose petals and
grains of lavender mixed into the salts. It smelled wonderful,
(09:15):
but last time I used it, I'd been picking the
lavender out of my hair for a few days. Instead,
I reached for the bottle of pearly bubble bath and
trickled a stream of it into the steaming water. As
(09:39):
the tub filled, I got a fresh towel and washcloth
from the linen closet, my book from the bedside table,
and a tall glass of water from the kitchen. It's
strange what feels indulgent to you at different stages in
(10:02):
your life. When I was younger, I wouldn't have been
staying home to take a bath on a Saturday morning,
but here I was. Maybe it is a gift of aging,
(10:22):
a growing understanding of what is enough, and a capacity
to enjoy it when you have it. In that first
minute in the hot water, my mind went peacefully quiet.
(10:45):
I wasn't thinking much of anything, just feeling the heat
and the relaxation in my muscles. I stretched out in
the tubs my eyes. I could hear the wind blowing
around the house, and I thought about the squirrels and
(11:11):
rabbits digging deeper into their dens, curling around one another
for warmth. I picked up my book and read. When
the water started to feel a little cool, I just
(11:34):
turned the hot tap back on and let it run
till it was piping again. I sipped water, soaked up
my washcloth, and scrubbed, and eventually felt ready to get out.
(11:56):
As I reached for my giant bath towel and wrapped
it around me. I had a memory of being helped
out of the tub as a child, being wrapped in
a warm towel, and how safe and happy it had
(12:16):
made me feel. I smiled at myself in the steamy mirror.
I'd taken over that job of being the steward of
my own happiness and safety, and while I hadn't been
(12:38):
very good at it at the beginning, it had taken
practice and on learning some things along the way, I
was now adept. I protected me, I was safe with me,
I was happy with me. I pulled on a robe
(13:05):
and stepped back into the bedroom to peer out of
the window. To my surprise, the sun was shining and
the wind had dropped to nothing. The trees stood still
(13:25):
dripping in the sunlight, and the sidewalks were already free
of snow. I cracked the window and leaned down to
the sill to breathe in the air. It wasn't warm, exactly,
but I thought I could smell the sunlight in it,
(13:51):
and it was inviting. As I dressed and combed my hair,
the sunlight grew brighter, cutting into my rooms and warming
my wood floors with its rays. By the time I
was pulling on my shoes and thinking about an early lunch,
(14:16):
all the morning snow was gone, and when I opened
up my front door bird song rang from the tree
tops in my yard. I chuckled at March and her
changeable ways, zipped up my jacket, and set out in
(14:40):
search of something tasty. I'd been so ready to spend
the day curled up at home, but now I wanted
to be out in the world, enjoying the warmth. Till
March took another left turn. There was a cafe on
(15:04):
the corner built into a little brick building, and their
pots of pansies were still dusted with snow as I
walked up and pulled open their door. They made excellent
sandwiches and soup, and there were always a few empty
(15:28):
tables and booths to slide into. I found one near
the front window and sat down, unzipping my jacket, letting
the sun shine on my face. On special, they had
(15:49):
a roasted cauliflower sandwich with avocado and tahini sauce, served
on toasted marble rye with housemade chips and ginger iced tea.
It had my name all over it, and after I
ordered it, I sat back and watched people walking out
(16:12):
on the street. By tonight, the winter could be back
in full force, icy with fresh snow, or we may
be headed into a few days of sun and warmth.
(16:33):
I guess in some ways it didn't really matter. I
could find ways to enjoy whatever came out. Like a lamb.
March is wild and ever changing, sweet mild spring one hour,
(17:04):
a howling gale of snow and ice the next. I
liked her unpredictability, how unapologetic she was when she turned
on a dime and changed herself completely in an afternoon.
(17:32):
I'd heard once that each person is a string of
DNA that would take over a century to recite. So
I imagine that if we feel complicated at times, like we
(17:54):
hold zones of temperate and inclement weather within ourselves, that
they sometimes overlap and emerge on their own schedule. Well,
that adds up. The morning had come in like a lion.
(18:20):
When I'd pushed aside the curtains in my bedroom, I'd
found a few inches of fresh snow spread over the yard,
and more falling fast behind it. The winter aconite, with
(18:42):
its tiny yellow flowers that had appeared a week before.
Around the roots of pine trees were covered with white,
And while they had been beautiful, I had to admit
that this snowfall was as well. It slowed me down
(19:13):
in a real literal way. I stopped, breathed, spent time
just looking. I'd had a plan in the back of
my mind to dress and head into town to spend
(19:39):
the morning running errands, but suddenly none of that sounded
pressing or appealing, and if the roads were slick, it
seemed a silly risk to take. In order to return
(20:01):
some library books and stand in line at the post office, no,
I should stay tucked in at home, bundle up and
enjoy watching the snow come down. It hadn't really taken
(20:24):
much time to convince myself of this. I was still
standing in front of the window with the curtain in
my hand. A gust of wind blew a thick wave
of flakes against the panes. When I could feel the
(20:48):
chill of it on my skin, I could get back
into bed. That was always a lovely option. But I
thought about another one that I rarely took but would
feel so good right now. A morning bath. Oh, a
(21:16):
morning bath. It sets the perfect tone for a day
when you don't have to rush off to anything that says, today,
we are going slow. I stepped into the bathroom and
(21:40):
opened the tap over the tub. In the cabinet, I
looked through the bottles and jars. I had some epsom salts,
good for soaking when my body was achy, as well
(22:03):
as a jar A friend had gifted me rose petals,
grains of lavender mixed into the salts. It smelled wonderful,
but last time I'd used it, I'd been picking the
(22:24):
lavender out of my hair for a few days. Instead,
I reached for a bottle of pearly bubble bath and
trickled a stream of it into the steaming water. As
(22:45):
the tub filled, I got a fresh towel and washcloth
from the linen closet, my book from the bedside table,
and a tall glass of water from the kitchen. It's
(23:06):
strange what feels indulgent to you at different stages in
your life. When I was younger, it wouldn't have been
staying home to take a bath on a Saturday morning,
but here I was. Maybe it is a gift of aging,
(23:35):
a growing understanding of what was enough, and a capacity
to enjoy it when you have it. In that first
minute in the hot water, my mind went peacefully quiet.
(24:00):
I wasn't thinking much of anything, just feeling the heat
and the relaxation and my muscles. I stretched out in
the tub and closed my eyes. I could hear the
(24:22):
wind blowing around the house, and I thought about the
squirrels and rabbits digging deeper into their dens, curling around
one another for warmth. I picked up my book and read.
(24:48):
When the water started to feel a little cool, I
just turned the hot tap back on and let it
run till it was piping again. My sipped water soapd
up my washcloth, and scrubbed, and eventually felt ready to
(25:14):
get out. As I reached for my giant bath towel
and wrapped it around me. I had a memory of
being helped out of the tub as a child, being
wrapped in a warm towel, and how safe and happy
(25:39):
it had made me feel. I smiled at myself in
the steamy mirror. I'd taken over that job of being
the steward of my own happiness and safety. While I
(26:01):
hadn't been very good at it at the beginning, it
had taken practice and unlearning some things along the way.
I was now adept. I protected me, I was safe
(26:23):
with me, I was happy with me. I pulled on
a robe and stepped back into the bedroom to peer
out of the window. To my surprise, the sun was shining.
(26:44):
When the wind had dropped to nothing. The trees stood
still dripping in the sunlight, and the sidewalks were already
free of snow. I cracked the window and leaned down
(27:08):
to the sill to breathe in the air. It wasn't warm, exactly,
but I thought I could smell the sunlight in it,
and it was inviting. As I dressed and combed my hair.
(27:32):
The sunlight grew brighter, cutting into my rooms and warming
my wood floors with its rays. By the time I
was pulling on my shoes and thinking about an early lunch,
(27:53):
all the morning snow was gone, and when I I
opened up my front door, bird song rang from the
treetops in my yard. I chuckled at March and her
changeable ways, zipped up my jacket, and set out in
(28:22):
search of something tasty. I'd been so ready to spend
the day curled up at home, but now I wanted
to be out in the world, enjoying the warmth till
(28:45):
March took another left turn. There was a cafe on
the corner, built into a little brick building, and their
pots of pansa were still dusted with snow as I
walked up and pulled open their door. They made excellent
(29:11):
sandwiches and soups, and there were always a few empty
tables and booths aside into I found one near the
front window and sat down on, zipping my jacket and
(29:33):
feeling the sunshine on my face. On special, they had
a roasted cauliflower sandwich with avocado and tahmi sauce. Served
on marble rye with housemade chips and ginger iced tea,
(29:58):
had had my name all over, and after I ordered it,
I sat back watched people walking on the street. By
tonight the winter could be back in full force, icy
(30:21):
with fresh snow, or we may be headed into a
few days of sun and warmth. I guess in some
ways it didn't really matter. I could find ways to
(30:42):
enjoy whatever came. 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 read and write all the stories you hear, and
(00:23):
nothing much happens. Audio Engineering is by Bob Witttersheim. We
give to a different charity each week, and this week
we are giving to Bat Conservation International. Their work is
to conserve the world's bats and their ecosystems to ensure
(00:43):
a healthy planet. Learn more about them in our show notes.
Thank you to our premium subscribers, who make what we
do possible for just ten cents a day. I feel
like an NPR pledge driver when I say that, but
(01:04):
really just ten cents. You can get our full catalog
of Bedtime Stories, hundreds of episodes, plus about thirty five
exclusive bonus stories, Extra Long, Slightly More Happens, epps, all
completely ad free, and the satisfaction of knowing that you
(01:27):
are helping to keep NMH available for everyone. You can
subscribe through the link in our bio or by searching
NMH Premium on Apple podcasts. Now. I have a story
to tell you. It is sort of like a lullaby,
(01:49):
and if you let it, it will rock your thinking
mind to sleep. Story is simple. Not much happens in it,
and that is the idea. Just by listening, we'll be
able to shift some activity in your brain from the
static background noise of your default mode to the soothing
(02:14):
focus of task positive mode, and that's where sleep can happen.
I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little
slower the second time through. If you wake in the
night and feel your brain start to kick back on,
(02:34):
don't hesitate to start the story again. The effects of
this conditioning will improve with practice, so be patient if
you're new to it. Our story tonight is called out
like a Lamb, and it's a story about the changeable
(02:56):
month of March and today spent enjoying a bit of
both winter and spring. It's also about a book read
in the bath, the luxury of a slow start to
the day, sunlight warming the floorboards, a pot of pansies
(03:17):
dusted with snow, and making peace with a bit of
chaos inside and out. Now switch off your light and
slide down into your sheets. Anything that feels good in
(03:38):
this moment, please notice it, Please let it sink in.
You are in your bed. You are about to have
a great night's sleep, and when you wake tomorrow you'll
feel rested and ready. Let's take a deep breath in
(04:04):
through the nose and sigh from your mouth. Do that
one more time inhale and let it out, good, out
(04:31):
like a lamb. March is wild and never changing. Sweet
mild spring one hour, a howling gale of snow and
ice the next. I liked her unpredictability, how unapologetic she
(04:55):
was when she turned on a dime and changed herself
completely in an afternoon. I'd heard once that each person
is a string of DNA that would take over a
century to recite. So I imagine that if we feel complicated
(05:20):
at times, like we hold zones of temperate and inclement
weather within ourselves, that they sometimes overlap and emerge on
their own schedule. Well, that adds up. The morning had
(05:42):
come in like a lion. When I'd pushed aside the
curtains in my bedroom, I'd found a few inches of
fresh snow spread over the yard, and more falling fast
behind it. The winter aconite, with its tiny yellow flowers
(06:06):
that had appeared a week before. Around the roots of
the pine trees were covered with white while they had
been beautiful. I had to admit this snowfall was as well.
It slowed me down in a real literal way. I
(06:32):
stopped and breathed, spent time just looking. I'd had a
plan in the back of my mind to dress and
head into town to spend the morning running errands, but
(06:52):
suddenly none of that sounded pressing or appealing, and if
the roads were slick, it seemed a silly risk to
take in order to return some library books and stand
in line at the post office. No, I should stay
(07:18):
tucked in at home, bundle up and enjoy watching the
snow come down. It hadn't really taken much time to
convince myself of this. I was still standing in front
of the window with the curtain in my hand. A
(07:42):
gust of wind blew a thick wave of flakes against
the panes, and I could feel the chill of it
on my skin. I could get back into bed. That
was always a lovely option. But I thought about another
(08:06):
that I rarely took but would feel so good right now.
A morning bath. Oh, a morning bath. It sets the
perfect tone for a day when you don't have to
(08:27):
rush off to anything. It says today we are going slow.
I stepped into the bathroom and opened the tap over
the tub. In the cabinet, I looked through the bottles
(08:50):
and jars. I had some ups and salts good for
soaking when my body was achy, as well as a
jar a friend had gifted me with rose petals and
grains of lavender mixed into the salts. It smelled wonderful,
(09:15):
but last time I used it, I'd been picking the
lavender out of my hair for a few days. Instead,
I reached for the bottle of pearly bubble bath and
trickled a stream of it into the steaming water. As
(09:39):
the tub filled, I got a fresh towel and washcloth
from the linen closet, my book from the bedside table,
and a tall glass of water from the kitchen. It's
strange what feels indulgent to you at different stages in
(10:02):
your life. When I was younger, I wouldn't have been
staying home to take a bath on a Saturday morning,
but here I was. Maybe it is a gift of aging,
(10:22):
a growing understanding of what is enough, and a capacity
to enjoy it when you have it. In that first
minute in the hot water, my mind went peacefully quiet.
(10:45):
I wasn't thinking much of anything, just feeling the heat
and the relaxation in my muscles. I stretched out in
the tubs my eyes. I could hear the wind blowing
around the house, and I thought about the squirrels and
(11:11):
rabbits digging deeper into their dens, curling around one another
for warmth. I picked up my book and read. When
the water started to feel a little cool, I just
(11:34):
turned the hot tap back on and let it run
till it was piping again. I sipped water, soaked up
my washcloth, and scrubbed, and eventually felt ready to get out.
(11:56):
As I reached for my giant bath towel and wrapped
it around me. I had a memory of being helped
out of the tub as a child, being wrapped in
a warm towel, and how safe and happy it had
(12:16):
made me feel. I smiled at myself in the steamy mirror.
I'd taken over that job of being the steward of
my own happiness and safety, and while I hadn't been
(12:38):
very good at it at the beginning, it had taken
practice and on learning some things along the way, I
was now adept. I protected me, I was safe with me,
I was happy with me. I pulled on a robe
(13:05):
and stepped back into the bedroom to peer out of
the window. To my surprise, the sun was shining and
the wind had dropped to nothing. The trees stood still
(13:25):
dripping in the sunlight, and the sidewalks were already free
of snow. I cracked the window and leaned down to
the sill to breathe in the air. It wasn't warm, exactly,
but I thought I could smell the sunlight in it,
(13:51):
and it was inviting. As I dressed and combed my hair,
the sunlight grew brighter, cutting into my rooms and warming
my wood floors with its rays. By the time I
was pulling on my shoes and thinking about an early lunch,
(14:16):
all the morning snow was gone, and when I opened
up my front door bird song rang from the tree
tops in my yard. I chuckled at March and her
changeable ways, zipped up my jacket, and set out in
(14:40):
search of something tasty. I'd been so ready to spend
the day curled up at home, but now I wanted
to be out in the world, enjoying the warmth. Till
March took another left turn. There was a cafe on
(15:04):
the corner built into a little brick building, and their
pots of pansies were still dusted with snow as I
walked up and pulled open their door. They made excellent
sandwiches and soup, and there were always a few empty
(15:28):
tables and booths to slide into. I found one near
the front window and sat down, unzipping my jacket, letting
the sun shine on my face. On special, they had
(15:49):
a roasted cauliflower sandwich with avocado and tahini sauce, served
on toasted marble rye with housemade chips and ginger iced tea.
It had my name all over it, and after I
ordered it, I sat back and watched people walking out
(16:12):
on the street. By tonight, the winter could be back
in full force, icy with fresh snow, or we may
be headed into a few days of sun and warmth.
(16:33):
I guess in some ways it didn't really matter. I
could find ways to enjoy whatever came out. Like a lamb.
March is wild and ever changing, sweet mild spring one hour,
(17:04):
a howling gale of snow and ice the next. I
liked her unpredictability, how unapologetic she was when she turned
on a dime and changed herself completely in an afternoon.
(17:32):
I'd heard once that each person is a string of
DNA that would take over a century to recite. So
I imagine that if we feel complicated at times, like we
(17:54):
hold zones of temperate and inclement weather within ourselves, that
they sometimes overlap and emerge on their own schedule. Well,
that adds up. The morning had come in like a lion.
(18:20):
When I'd pushed aside the curtains in my bedroom, I'd
found a few inches of fresh snow spread over the yard,
and more falling fast behind it. The winter aconite, with
(18:42):
its tiny yellow flowers that had appeared a week before.
Around the roots of pine trees were covered with white,
And while they had been beautiful, I had to admit
that this snowfall was as well. It slowed me down
(19:13):
in a real literal way. I stopped, breathed, spent time
just looking. I'd had a plan in the back of
my mind to dress and head into town to spend
(19:39):
the morning running errands, but suddenly none of that sounded
pressing or appealing, and if the roads were slick, it
seemed a silly risk to take. In order to return
(20:01):
some library books and stand in line at the post office, no,
I should stay tucked in at home, bundle up and
enjoy watching the snow come down. It hadn't really taken
(20:24):
much time to convince myself of this. I was still
standing in front of the window with the curtain in
my hand. A gust of wind blew a thick wave
of flakes against the panes. When I could feel the
(20:48):
chill of it on my skin, I could get back
into bed. That was always a lovely option. But I
thought about another one that I rarely took but would
feel so good right now. A morning bath. Oh, a
(21:16):
morning bath. It sets the perfect tone for a day
when you don't have to rush off to anything that says, today,
we are going slow. I stepped into the bathroom and
(21:40):
opened the tap over the tub. In the cabinet, I
looked through the bottles and jars. I had some epsom salts,
good for soaking when my body was achy, as well
(22:03):
as a jar A friend had gifted me rose petals,
grains of lavender mixed into the salts. It smelled wonderful,
but last time I'd used it, I'd been picking the
(22:24):
lavender out of my hair for a few days. Instead,
I reached for a bottle of pearly bubble bath and
trickled a stream of it into the steaming water. As
(22:45):
the tub filled, I got a fresh towel and washcloth
from the linen closet, my book from the bedside table,
and a tall glass of water from the kitchen. It's
(23:06):
strange what feels indulgent to you at different stages in
your life. When I was younger, it wouldn't have been
staying home to take a bath on a Saturday morning,
but here I was. Maybe it is a gift of aging,
(23:35):
a growing understanding of what was enough, and a capacity
to enjoy it when you have it. In that first
minute in the hot water, my mind went peacefully quiet.
(24:00):
I wasn't thinking much of anything, just feeling the heat
and the relaxation and my muscles. I stretched out in
the tub and closed my eyes. I could hear the
(24:22):
wind blowing around the house, and I thought about the
squirrels and rabbits digging deeper into their dens, curling around
one another for warmth. I picked up my book and read.
(24:48):
When the water started to feel a little cool, I
just turned the hot tap back on and let it
run till it was piping again. My sipped water soapd
up my washcloth, and scrubbed, and eventually felt ready to
(25:14):
get out. As I reached for my giant bath towel
and wrapped it around me. I had a memory of
being helped out of the tub as a child, being
wrapped in a warm towel, and how safe and happy
(25:39):
it had made me feel. I smiled at myself in
the steamy mirror. I'd taken over that job of being
the steward of my own happiness and safety. While I
(26:01):
hadn't been very good at it at the beginning, it
had taken practice and unlearning some things along the way.
I was now adept. I protected me, I was safe
(26:23):
with me, I was happy with me. I pulled on
a robe and stepped back into the bedroom to peer
out of the window. To my surprise, the sun was shining.
(26:44):
When the wind had dropped to nothing. The trees stood
still dripping in the sunlight, and the sidewalks were already
free of snow. I cracked the window and leaned down
(27:08):
to the sill to breathe in the air. It wasn't warm, exactly,
but I thought I could smell the sunlight in it,
and it was inviting. As I dressed and combed my hair.
(27:32):
The sunlight grew brighter, cutting into my rooms and warming
my wood floors with its rays. By the time I
was pulling on my shoes and thinking about an early lunch,
(27:53):
all the morning snow was gone, and when I I
opened up my front door, bird song rang from the
treetops in my yard. I chuckled at March and her
changeable ways, zipped up my jacket, and set out in
(28:22):
search of something tasty. I'd been so ready to spend
the day curled up at home, but now I wanted
to be out in the world, enjoying the warmth till
(28:45):
March took another left turn. There was a cafe on
the corner, built into a little brick building, and their
pots of pansa were still dusted with snow as I
walked up and pulled open their door. They made excellent
(29:11):
sandwiches and soups, and there were always a few empty
tables and booths aside into I found one near the
front window and sat down on, zipping my jacket and
(29:33):
feeling the sunshine on my face. On special, they had
a roasted cauliflower sandwich with avocado and tahmi sauce. Served
on marble rye with housemade chips and ginger iced tea,
(29:58):
had had my name all over, and after I ordered it,
I sat back watched people walking on the street. By
tonight the winter could be back in full force, icy
(30:21):
with fresh snow, or we may be headed into a
few days of sun and warmth. I guess in some
ways it didn't really matter. I could find ways to
(30:42):
enjoy whatever came. Sweet dreams
Popular Podcasts
Dateline NBC
Current and classic episodes, featuring compelling true-crime mysteries, powerful documentaries and in-depth investigations.
Stuff You Should Know
If you've ever wanted to know about champagne, satanism, the Stonewall Uprising, chaos theory, LSD, El Nino, true crime and Rosa Parks, then look no further. Josh and Chuck have you covered.
The Nikki Glaser Podcast
Every week comedian and infamous roaster Nikki Glaser provides a fun, fast-paced, and brutally honest look into current pop-culture and her own personal life.