March 21, 2024 • 30 mins
Our story tonight is called “The Pantry,” and it’s a story about a chore that becomes a sort of meditation. It’s also about neat rows of cans with their labels all turned the same way, the satisfaction of a job well done, and taking care of little you, even once you’re all grown up.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:01):
Welcome to bedtime stories for grown ups in which nothing
much happens, You feel good, and then you fall asleep.
I'm Catherine Nikolay. I write and read all the stories
you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by
(00:23):
Bob Wittersheim. My book, also called Nothing Much Happens, is
available wherever books are sold. Thank you for your support.
Now let me tell you how to use this podcast.
(00:43):
Your mind needs a place to rest, some place quiet
and simple and soft. That's what the story will be.
A landing place, a nest for your mind. All you
have to do is listen, follow along with the sound
(01:06):
of my voice, and before you know it, you'll be
waking up tomorrow feeling rested and refreshed. I'll read the
story twice, and I'll go a little slower when I
get to the second telling. If you wake again in
(01:27):
the middle of the night, try thinking back to any
part of the story you can remember, sometimes just saying
the name of it in your mind. I'll put you
right back into your nest and you'll drop right back off.
(01:50):
This is a kind of brain training. It improves with time,
so be sure to give it some time. Our story
to night is called the pantry. And it's a story
about a chore that becomes a sort of meditation. It's
(02:14):
also about neat rows of cans with their labels all
turned the same way, the satisfaction of a job well done,
and taking care of little you, even once you're all
grown up. Now lights out, campers, switch everything off. Slide
(02:45):
down into your sheets, and notice how good it feels
to be in your bed, to be about to fall asleep.
Maybe this is a moment you've been looking forward to
(03:05):
all day. Well, here it is. Please enjoy it. Let's
take a deep breath in through the nose and out
through the mouth once more. Please in and out. Good
(03:39):
the pantry. I'd been walking past it for a while,
the pantry door shut to hide the messy mix of
bags and boxes, cans and bottles. It was a chore
(04:04):
I'd been putting off for a rainy day. We all
have a room like that, right, Or sometimes it's the
trunk of the car, or just an overstuffed bag, a
(04:24):
collection of things that need to be sorted and dealt with.
I put it off, even though I knew that having
it organized and clean would feel so good. The space
(04:45):
would be inviting and calm again, and I'd be happy
to open the door and scan the shelves rather than
avoid it. Still, sometimes as humans, we do the opposite
(05:07):
of the thing we know we should, and that's not
a moral sort of should, just the i'd feel better
if sort. So. To day I decided I couldn't walk
past it one more time. It flicked on the lights
(05:32):
in the kitchen and cleared off the counters. I took
the pot of hyacinths from the table and set it
on the bookshelf in the living room. I'd need a
good bit of space for this. Then I opened the
(05:58):
pantry door and let out a heavy sigh. It was
only a closet, slightly wider than the door itself and
not very deep, but every shelf from top to bottom
(06:22):
was crammed with cans of beans, bottles of herbs and garlic, salt,
boxes of pasta and ramen, as well as quite a
good bit of random stuff that had no business being
(06:45):
in a pantry. Were those winter gloves up there, the
light bulbs I bought three years ago that were the
wrong size, packages of cheesecloth from back when I was
definitely going to start making my own nut milk, A
(07:07):
couple times a week, and that part that came off,
that thing that I thought I should save in case
I needed it again. Considering that I couldn't remember anymore
what the thing had been, I guessed I'd been wrong.
(07:32):
I started to unload the shelves onto my kitchen counters
and table. I remembered a podcast I'd been listening to earlier,
A fascinating history of a big city I'd always dreamed
(07:54):
of visiting, and thought it would make the perfect companion
to my work. I turned it on and set it
playing between the boxes. While I made trip after trip
(08:17):
between the pantry and the counters, I listened and imagined
the great buildings described, the cobblestone streets, the view from
the observation deck on the tallest building, the open air
(08:42):
markets in the squares. Gosh, how much would I have
come home with if I could have visited those stalls already,
just from our own shops and markets. I collected a
(09:03):
dozen kinds of hot sauce spices. I had no idea
what to do with pickles and vinegars and sauces that
overwhelmed the surface of the table. Well, some of these
things were years old, dust on their caps, and their
(09:26):
best by dates so long passed they were illegible. I
imagined I had better be safe rather than sorry, so
bottles were emptied and rinsed to go into the recycling bin.
(09:46):
Once the pantry was empty, it got a solid top
to bottom cleaning. I scrubbed the surfaces till they shone,
and that sticky ring of pomegranate molasses on the bottom
shelf finely dissolved and disappeared. I swept and mopped the
(10:13):
floor and found a few random pasta shapes, dog food nuggets,
and even though I've never worn one in my life,
a couple of bobby pins. They must just appear in places.
(10:37):
While the shelves and floor dried, I started to sort
what was left into categories. Baking supplies were grouped by
the sink, and I was excited to find I had
almond an orange extract. I have to make something with those.
(11:04):
I had a truly impressive collection of dried beans. I
had split peas, both green and yellow, and all colors
of lentils and fat lima beans as big as my
thumb nail, and pretty calypso and yellow eye beans. I
(11:30):
had boxes of pasta and noodles, oudan and ramen, farfhale, buccatini,
and tiny pastina that I used in soup. On freezing
days or when I felt under the weather, I started
(11:52):
to arrange things back on their shelves. I tried to
imagine where things should go based on how often I
used them, and was excited when a can or box
(12:13):
fit perfectly into the spot I'd left for it. I
knew it was fussy, but when I put the cans
of beans and tomatoes and hearts of palm back into place,
I turned them so that the labels lined up identically,
(12:38):
just like in the grocery store. I guess I was
playing shop owner, like I had with a play set
when I was little, But what's wrong with that? The
order made me feel calm, and if our spaces can
(13:02):
help us feel that way, it's worth the effort. I
found a few sturdy cardboard boxes, nice ones that gifts
had come in, and used them to hold the small
bits that would otherwise fall all over the place. I
(13:29):
slotted snack packs of fig cookies into one, with little
packets of almonds and cashews beside it. Into a tall jar,
I poured a bag of small coconut candies wrapped in
foil and screwed on the lid. Lining my shelves like this,
(13:55):
little snacks in easy reach, treats as well as staples.
It felt like caring for the little kid part of me.
There was plenty here, as in abundance, more than enough,
(14:18):
and I could go and reach for what I needed,
And that was a really lovely, safe feeling. Parenting doesn't
stop when we become adults. We just take over from
others the work of continually raising ourselves. Now, I wondered
(14:45):
again why I'd waited to put these shelves in order.
I deserved this. On the highest shelf, I put away
clean vases ready for spring flowers, and a stack of
(15:06):
cook books that and here, I vowed and hoped it
would be true that I would start to actually cook from.
I'd found a handful of little screw in hooks in
the garage, and I screwed them into the edge of
(15:29):
that top shelf to hang herbs and braided garlic from.
All I had for now was a small posy of
lavender that a friend had gifted me a few weeks before.
(15:50):
But I slipped its twine wrap over the hook and
stood back to admire what I had done. Clean, organized,
and more than enough to keep my plate full and
flavored for quite a while. The pantry I'd been walking
(16:22):
past it for a while, the pantry door shut to
hide the messy mix of bags and boxes, cans and bottles.
It was a chore I'd been putting off for a
(16:45):
rainy day. We all have a room like that, right
Or sometimes it's the trunk of the car or an
overstuffed bag, a collection of things that needs to be
(17:11):
sorted and dealt with. I put it off, even though
I knew that having it organized and clean would feel
so good. The space would feel inviting and calm again,
(17:39):
and I'd be happy to open the door and scan
the shelves rather than avoid it. Still, sometimes, as humans,
we do the opposite of the thing we know we should,
(18:03):
And that's not a moral sort of should, just the
I'd feel better if sort. So today I decided I
couldn't walk past it one more time. I flicked on
(18:28):
the lights in the kitchen and cleared off the counters.
I took the pot of hyacinths from the table and
set it on the bookshelf in the living room. I'd
(18:49):
need a good bit of space for this. Then I
opened the pantry door and let out a heavy sigh.
It was only a closet, slightly wider inside than the
(19:16):
door itself and not very deep, but every shelf from
top to bottom was crammed with cans of beans, bottles
of herbs and garlic, salt, boxes of pasta and ramen,
(19:43):
as well as quite a good bit of random stuff
that had no business being in a pantry. Were those
winter gloves up there, the light bulbs I'd bought three
years ago that were the wrong size, packages of cheesecloth
(20:11):
from back when I was definitely going to start making
my own nut milk a couple of times a week.
That part that came off, that thing that I thought
I should save in case I needed it again. Considering
(20:35):
that I couldn't remember anymore what the thing had been,
I guess I'd been wrong. I started to unload the
shelves onto my kitchen counters and table. I remembered a
(20:57):
podcast I'd been listening to earlier, A fascinating history of
a big city I'd always dreamed of visiting, and thought
it would make the perfect companion to my work. I
(21:22):
turned it on and set it playing between the boxes.
While I made trip after trip between the pantry and
the counters, I listened and imagined the great buildings described,
(21:47):
the cobblestone streets, the view from the observation deck on
the tallest building, the open air markets, and the squares. Gosh,
how much would I have come home with if I
(22:10):
could have visited those stalls already, just from our own
shops and markets. I'd collected a dozen kinds of hot
sauce spices. I had no idea what to do with
(22:33):
pickles and vinegars and sauces that overwhelmed the surface of
the table. Well, some of these things were years old,
dust on their caps, and their best buy dates so
(22:54):
long passed they were illegible. I imagined I had better be
safe rather than sorry, So bottles were emptied and rinsed
to go into the recycling bin. Once the pantry was empty,
(23:18):
it got a solid top to bottom cleaning. I scrubbed
the surfaces till they shone, and that sticky ring of
pomegranate molasses on the bottom shelf finally dissolved and disappeared.
(23:43):
I swept and mopped the floor and found a few
random pasta shapes, dog food nuggets, and even though I'd
never worn one in my life, a couple of bobby pins.
(24:06):
They must just appear in places. While the shelves and
floor dried, I started to sort what was left into categories.
Baking supplies were grouped by the sink, and I was
(24:29):
excited to find I had almond an orange extract. I'd
have to make something with those. I had a truly
impressive collection of dried beans, split peas, both green and yellow,
(24:52):
and all colors of lentils, then fat lima beans as
big as my thumb nail, and pretty calypso and yellow
eye beans. I had many boxes of pasta and noodles,
(25:16):
oudan and ramen, farfale, buccatini and tiny pastina that I
used in soup on freezing days or when I felt
under the weather. I started to arrange things back on
(25:40):
their shelves. I tried to imagine where things should go
based on how often I used them, and was excited
when a can or box fit perfectly into the spot
(26:02):
I'd left for it. I knew it was fussy, but
when I put the cans of beans and tomatoes and
hearts of palm back into place, I turned them so
that the labels lined up identically, just like in the
(26:28):
grocery store. I guess I was playing shop owner, like
I had with the play set when I was little,
But what's wrong with that? The order made me feel calm,
(26:51):
and if our spaces can help us feel that way,
it's worth the effort. I found a few sturdy cardboard boxes,
nice ones that gifts had come in, and used them
(27:13):
to hold the small bits that would otherwise fall all
over the place. I slotted snack packs of fig cookies
into one, with little packets of almonds and cashews beside it.
(27:37):
Into a tall jar, I poured a bag of small
coconut candies wrapped in foil and screwed on the lid.
Lining my shelves like this, little snacks in easy reach
(28:00):
as well as staples, but felt like caring for the
little kid part of me. There was plenty here, as
in abundance, more than enough, and I could just go
(28:25):
and reach for what I needed, and that was a
really lovely, safe feeling. Parenting doesn't stop when we become adults.
We just take over from others the work of continually
(28:49):
raising ourselves. How I wondered again why I'd waited to
put these shelves in order. I deserved this. On the
highest shelf, I put away clean vases ready for spring flowers,
(29:16):
and a stack of cookbooks that and here, I vowed
and hoped it would be true, I would start to
actually cook from I'd found a handful of little screw
in hooks in the garage, and I screwed them into
(29:38):
the edge of that top shelf to hang herbs and
braided garlic from. All I had for now was a
small posey of lavender that a friend had gifted me
a few weeks before. But I slipped its twine wrap
(30:04):
over the hook and stood back to admire what I
had done, clean, organized, and more than enough to keep
my plate full and flavored for quite a while. Sweet
(30:28):
Dreams
Welcome to bedtime stories for grown ups in which nothing
much happens, You feel good, and then you fall asleep.
I'm Catherine Nikolay. I write and read all the stories
you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio Engineering is by
(00:23):
Bob Wittersheim. My book, also called Nothing Much Happens, is
available wherever books are sold. Thank you for your support.
Now let me tell you how to use this podcast.
(00:43):
Your mind needs a place to rest, some place quiet
and simple and soft. That's what the story will be.
A landing place, a nest for your mind. All you
have to do is listen, follow along with the sound
(01:06):
of my voice, and before you know it, you'll be
waking up tomorrow feeling rested and refreshed. I'll read the
story twice, and I'll go a little slower when I
get to the second telling. If you wake again in
(01:27):
the middle of the night, try thinking back to any
part of the story you can remember, sometimes just saying
the name of it in your mind. I'll put you
right back into your nest and you'll drop right back off.
(01:50):
This is a kind of brain training. It improves with time,
so be sure to give it some time. Our story
to night is called the pantry. And it's a story
about a chore that becomes a sort of meditation. It's
(02:14):
also about neat rows of cans with their labels all
turned the same way, the satisfaction of a job well done,
and taking care of little you, even once you're all
grown up. Now lights out, campers, switch everything off. Slide
(02:45):
down into your sheets, and notice how good it feels
to be in your bed, to be about to fall asleep.
Maybe this is a moment you've been looking forward to
(03:05):
all day. Well, here it is. Please enjoy it. Let's
take a deep breath in through the nose and out
through the mouth once more. Please in and out. Good
(03:39):
the pantry. I'd been walking past it for a while,
the pantry door shut to hide the messy mix of
bags and boxes, cans and bottles. It was a chore
(04:04):
I'd been putting off for a rainy day. We all
have a room like that, right, Or sometimes it's the
trunk of the car, or just an overstuffed bag, a
(04:24):
collection of things that need to be sorted and dealt with.
I put it off, even though I knew that having
it organized and clean would feel so good. The space
(04:45):
would be inviting and calm again, and I'd be happy
to open the door and scan the shelves rather than
avoid it. Still, sometimes as humans, we do the opposite
(05:07):
of the thing we know we should, and that's not
a moral sort of should, just the i'd feel better
if sort. So. To day I decided I couldn't walk
past it one more time. It flicked on the lights
(05:32):
in the kitchen and cleared off the counters. I took
the pot of hyacinths from the table and set it
on the bookshelf in the living room. I'd need a
good bit of space for this. Then I opened the
(05:58):
pantry door and let out a heavy sigh. It was
only a closet, slightly wider than the door itself and
not very deep, but every shelf from top to bottom
(06:22):
was crammed with cans of beans, bottles of herbs and garlic, salt,
boxes of pasta and ramen, as well as quite a
good bit of random stuff that had no business being
(06:45):
in a pantry. Were those winter gloves up there, the
light bulbs I bought three years ago that were the
wrong size, packages of cheesecloth from back when I was
definitely going to start making my own nut milk, A
(07:07):
couple times a week, and that part that came off,
that thing that I thought I should save in case
I needed it again. Considering that I couldn't remember anymore
what the thing had been, I guessed I'd been wrong.
(07:32):
I started to unload the shelves onto my kitchen counters
and table. I remembered a podcast I'd been listening to earlier,
A fascinating history of a big city I'd always dreamed
(07:54):
of visiting, and thought it would make the perfect companion
to my work. I turned it on and set it
playing between the boxes. While I made trip after trip
(08:17):
between the pantry and the counters, I listened and imagined
the great buildings described, the cobblestone streets, the view from
the observation deck on the tallest building, the open air
(08:42):
markets in the squares. Gosh, how much would I have
come home with if I could have visited those stalls already,
just from our own shops and markets. I collected a
(09:03):
dozen kinds of hot sauce spices. I had no idea
what to do with pickles and vinegars and sauces that
overwhelmed the surface of the table. Well, some of these
things were years old, dust on their caps, and their
(09:26):
best by dates so long passed they were illegible. I
imagined I had better be safe rather than sorry, so
bottles were emptied and rinsed to go into the recycling bin.
(09:46):
Once the pantry was empty, it got a solid top
to bottom cleaning. I scrubbed the surfaces till they shone,
and that sticky ring of pomegranate molasses on the bottom
shelf finely dissolved and disappeared. I swept and mopped the
(10:13):
floor and found a few random pasta shapes, dog food nuggets,
and even though I've never worn one in my life,
a couple of bobby pins. They must just appear in places.
(10:37):
While the shelves and floor dried, I started to sort
what was left into categories. Baking supplies were grouped by
the sink, and I was excited to find I had
almond an orange extract. I have to make something with those.
(11:04):
I had a truly impressive collection of dried beans. I
had split peas, both green and yellow, and all colors
of lentils and fat lima beans as big as my
thumb nail, and pretty calypso and yellow eye beans. I
(11:30):
had boxes of pasta and noodles, oudan and ramen, farfhale, buccatini,
and tiny pastina that I used in soup. On freezing
days or when I felt under the weather, I started
(11:52):
to arrange things back on their shelves. I tried to
imagine where things should go based on how often I
used them, and was excited when a can or box
(12:13):
fit perfectly into the spot I'd left for it. I
knew it was fussy, but when I put the cans
of beans and tomatoes and hearts of palm back into place,
I turned them so that the labels lined up identically,
(12:38):
just like in the grocery store. I guess I was
playing shop owner, like I had with a play set
when I was little, But what's wrong with that? The
order made me feel calm, and if our spaces can
(13:02):
help us feel that way, it's worth the effort. I
found a few sturdy cardboard boxes, nice ones that gifts
had come in, and used them to hold the small
bits that would otherwise fall all over the place. I
(13:29):
slotted snack packs of fig cookies into one, with little
packets of almonds and cashews beside it. Into a tall jar,
I poured a bag of small coconut candies wrapped in
foil and screwed on the lid. Lining my shelves like this,
(13:55):
little snacks in easy reach, treats as well as staples.
It felt like caring for the little kid part of me.
There was plenty here, as in abundance, more than enough,
(14:18):
and I could go and reach for what I needed,
And that was a really lovely, safe feeling. Parenting doesn't
stop when we become adults. We just take over from
others the work of continually raising ourselves. Now, I wondered
(14:45):
again why I'd waited to put these shelves in order.
I deserved this. On the highest shelf, I put away
clean vases ready for spring flowers, and a stack of
(15:06):
cook books that and here, I vowed and hoped it
would be true that I would start to actually cook from.
I'd found a handful of little screw in hooks in
the garage, and I screwed them into the edge of
(15:29):
that top shelf to hang herbs and braided garlic from.
All I had for now was a small posy of
lavender that a friend had gifted me a few weeks before.
(15:50):
But I slipped its twine wrap over the hook and
stood back to admire what I had done. Clean, organized,
and more than enough to keep my plate full and
flavored for quite a while. The pantry I'd been walking
(16:22):
past it for a while, the pantry door shut to
hide the messy mix of bags and boxes, cans and bottles.
It was a chore I'd been putting off for a
(16:45):
rainy day. We all have a room like that, right
Or sometimes it's the trunk of the car or an
overstuffed bag, a collection of things that needs to be
(17:11):
sorted and dealt with. I put it off, even though
I knew that having it organized and clean would feel
so good. The space would feel inviting and calm again,
(17:39):
and I'd be happy to open the door and scan
the shelves rather than avoid it. Still, sometimes, as humans,
we do the opposite of the thing we know we should,
(18:03):
And that's not a moral sort of should, just the
I'd feel better if sort. So today I decided I
couldn't walk past it one more time. I flicked on
(18:28):
the lights in the kitchen and cleared off the counters.
I took the pot of hyacinths from the table and
set it on the bookshelf in the living room. I'd
(18:49):
need a good bit of space for this. Then I
opened the pantry door and let out a heavy sigh.
It was only a closet, slightly wider inside than the
(19:16):
door itself and not very deep, but every shelf from
top to bottom was crammed with cans of beans, bottles
of herbs and garlic, salt, boxes of pasta and ramen,
(19:43):
as well as quite a good bit of random stuff
that had no business being in a pantry. Were those
winter gloves up there, the light bulbs I'd bought three
years ago that were the wrong size, packages of cheesecloth
(20:11):
from back when I was definitely going to start making
my own nut milk a couple of times a week.
That part that came off, that thing that I thought
I should save in case I needed it again. Considering
(20:35):
that I couldn't remember anymore what the thing had been,
I guess I'd been wrong. I started to unload the
shelves onto my kitchen counters and table. I remembered a
(20:57):
podcast I'd been listening to earlier, A fascinating history of
a big city I'd always dreamed of visiting, and thought
it would make the perfect companion to my work. I
(21:22):
turned it on and set it playing between the boxes.
While I made trip after trip between the pantry and
the counters, I listened and imagined the great buildings described,
(21:47):
the cobblestone streets, the view from the observation deck on
the tallest building, the open air markets, and the squares. Gosh,
how much would I have come home with if I
(22:10):
could have visited those stalls already, just from our own
shops and markets. I'd collected a dozen kinds of hot
sauce spices. I had no idea what to do with
(22:33):
pickles and vinegars and sauces that overwhelmed the surface of
the table. Well, some of these things were years old,
dust on their caps, and their best buy dates so
(22:54):
long passed they were illegible. I imagined I had better be
safe rather than sorry, So bottles were emptied and rinsed
to go into the recycling bin. Once the pantry was empty,
(23:18):
it got a solid top to bottom cleaning. I scrubbed
the surfaces till they shone, and that sticky ring of
pomegranate molasses on the bottom shelf finally dissolved and disappeared.
(23:43):
I swept and mopped the floor and found a few
random pasta shapes, dog food nuggets, and even though I'd
never worn one in my life, a couple of bobby pins.
(24:06):
They must just appear in places. While the shelves and
floor dried, I started to sort what was left into categories.
Baking supplies were grouped by the sink, and I was
(24:29):
excited to find I had almond an orange extract. I'd
have to make something with those. I had a truly
impressive collection of dried beans, split peas, both green and yellow,
(24:52):
and all colors of lentils, then fat lima beans as
big as my thumb nail, and pretty calypso and yellow
eye beans. I had many boxes of pasta and noodles,
(25:16):
oudan and ramen, farfale, buccatini and tiny pastina that I
used in soup on freezing days or when I felt
under the weather. I started to arrange things back on
(25:40):
their shelves. I tried to imagine where things should go
based on how often I used them, and was excited
when a can or box fit perfectly into the spot
(26:02):
I'd left for it. I knew it was fussy, but
when I put the cans of beans and tomatoes and
hearts of palm back into place, I turned them so
that the labels lined up identically, just like in the
(26:28):
grocery store. I guess I was playing shop owner, like
I had with the play set when I was little,
But what's wrong with that? The order made me feel calm,
(26:51):
and if our spaces can help us feel that way,
it's worth the effort. I found a few sturdy cardboard boxes,
nice ones that gifts had come in, and used them
(27:13):
to hold the small bits that would otherwise fall all
over the place. I slotted snack packs of fig cookies
into one, with little packets of almonds and cashews beside it.
(27:37):
Into a tall jar, I poured a bag of small
coconut candies wrapped in foil and screwed on the lid.
Lining my shelves like this, little snacks in easy reach
(28:00):
as well as staples, but felt like caring for the
little kid part of me. There was plenty here, as
in abundance, more than enough, and I could just go
(28:25):
and reach for what I needed, and that was a
really lovely, safe feeling. Parenting doesn't stop when we become adults.
We just take over from others the work of continually
(28:49):
raising ourselves. How I wondered again why I'd waited to
put these shelves in order. I deserved this. On the
highest shelf, I put away clean vases ready for spring flowers,
(29:16):
and a stack of cookbooks that and here, I vowed
and hoped it would be true, I would start to
actually cook from I'd found a handful of little screw
in hooks in the garage, and I screwed them into
(29:38):
the edge of that top shelf to hang herbs and
braided garlic from. All I had for now was a
small posey of lavender that a friend had gifted me
a few weeks before. But I slipped its twine wrap
(30:04):
over the hook and stood back to admire what I
had done, clean, organized, and more than enough to keep
my plate full and flavored for quite a while. Sweet
(30:28):
Dreams
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