September 11, 2025 • 19 mins
✨ Step into a warmly lit café on a night filled with music and connection. In Listening Party, you’ll join the anticipation of an intimate album release, where the scent of coffee mingles with the sound of heartfelt lyrics. This gentle story invites you to listen deeply, notice the beauty in small moments, and feel the glow of community around shared art.
Curl up, press play, and let the music carry you into a dreamlike night.
If you enjoy cozy, relaxing stories, remember to follow the podcast so you don't miss any that drop every Thursday.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Connect with The Slow Life
Stories written and read by Jennifer Veinot
🌐 Website: TheSlowLife.ca
📸 Instagram: @theslowlifecozystories
📌 Pinterest: theslowlifecozystories
💌 Support the show by donating HERE
All content copyrighted Jennifer Veinot (Zwicker) 2024, 2025
Mark as Played
Transcript
Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:02):
Welcome to The Slow Life. I'm Jennifer Vino and I create,
narrate and design the soundscape of this village of
cosy stories to relax and unwind.
Each week I share an original story.
Read 2 times so you can relax even more during the second
(00:25):
reading. I'm happy to announce my
website, theslowlife.ca. It provides a space where we can
connect and I can bring you all things cozy.
Let's settle in with some easy breathing at your own pace.
(00:48):
With each inhale, let fresh air fill the space around your
heart. With each exhale, feel the calm
air spread through your body andflow out through your arms and
legs, gently in through your heart.
(01:12):
Gently out through your body, inthrough your heart, out through
your body. And now let's begin.
(01:36):
This story is called Listening Party, and it's about tuning in
to the lyrics, a ballad of holding space for a friend and
being proud of a stranger. The caffe glows as I approach
it, amber spilling into the street like hot tea pouring into
(02:01):
my cup. Inside, people close to the
windows are clear through the glass, while further back
silhouettes move about, slow andcomforting.
I push open the door and step into the smell of roasted coffee
(02:22):
beans. Although I know some cups are
filled with something stronger, there's a hum of anticipation
that always builds before music begins.
I was invited here by a friend who heard about this listening
party through another friend, and now I'm standing in the
(02:44):
midst of this intimate space. But I feel welcome knowing
anyone who wanders in can stay. The tables have been rearranged
to open a space at the far end. A stage no higher than a single
step holds a guitar stand and a microphone, a keyboard and a
(03:08):
small drum kit. I received my welcome almost
right away from the musician herself.
She greets people near the front, her guitar slung on a
strap over her shoulder, her hair tied up in a loose bun.
She looks calm but focused, as though she's been rehearsing
(03:31):
this moment in her mind for weeks, probably months.
The clink of mugs and glasses and the chatter fade as she
steps up to the microphone. She doesn't announce anything
just yet, only suttles her fingers on the strings and
(03:51):
begins. Her voice is gentle enough for
this atmosphere, but strong, like waves that can lull you to
sleep but also carry ships on its surface.
Her guitar follows, bright and steady.
The first song is about walking familiar streets on her own, the
(04:15):
way solitude can be a kind of companion.
I listen really tuning in to thelyrics, noticing how personal
they seem. The best ones are always written
this way. After this opening number, she
introduces herself. This album release is her first
(04:38):
ever. She's appreciative of the local
support she's being shown, including this crowd here to
night. She shifts into another song,
the tempo quicker, a spark underher fingers.
The lyrics tell of a long drive on narrow roads, getting to
(05:00):
somewhere not yet known. The keyboard adds the perfect
undercurrents and the drummer keeps it light.
But sure, both of these women behind her are smiling and
shining in their element, their skills inspirational.
Then there's a song about a shipthat catches me by surprise.
(05:25):
The keyboard and drums sit out for this one, and the singer
uses her voice accompanied only by her hand, creating a steady
beat against the hollow wood of her guitar.
Her words describe the strength of the wind and the taste of
salt spray in the mist. Her eyes closed as she sings of
(05:51):
how in all female crew have become family to each other,
creating safety and strong culture for each member.
The added harmony from the two behind her builds at one point
and I feel a shiver down my armsat the beauty of it.
(06:11):
They fade out as she carries thesong to the end.
She points out some of the boatscrew members in the audience.
We oblige with cheers, without hesitation.
Halfway through the set, she places the guitar on the stand.
(06:31):
Applause again bursts up, warm and genuine.
She smiles, thanks the room quietly, and steps down for a
short break. People shift towards the
counter, where snacks and drinksare set out.
I see plates of fruit and cheese, bowls of roasted nuts,
(06:54):
little glasses with sparkling water and slices of lemon.
The cafe owner pours coffee intothick ceramic mugs, froth rising
to the tops. I see on every table a
scattering of business cards with a code on each one ready to
(07:17):
be scanned by anyone wanting to take her music with them on
their phones. Displayed on a table to the side
is a small stack of CD's. Happy to have a hard copy
version. I pull out the cash and pay the
person at the table. I turn around and find myself
(07:41):
near the musician on the cover, her hands free to shake in
greeting or to sign my seedy insert.
She looks completely relaxed nowthat she knows folks are
enjoying themselves with something she's created.
She tells me she used to work atthe library, surrounded by
(08:05):
beautiful stories but not quite telling her own.
I ask her how she's doing, how it feels to be stepping in to
this new era. She says it feels like stepping
into a bit of a current kind of uncertain, but exciting.
She doesn't know exactly where it's carrying her, but she knows
(08:30):
she wants to ride with it. I nod and tell her this night
and this path seemed to suit her, that she doesn't seem
afraid at all. Before I miss my chance, I ask
her to sign my CD. She's honored and writes her
name and a thank you in gold script taking her place back on
(08:53):
the stage. The room settles and the first
notes drift out. A ballad about holding space for
a friend, about welcoming them to share their truth, or just
being with them when no words are necessary.
A song that remembers A childhood field, tall grass
(09:16):
bending in the wind. Another, more upbeat tune
wonders what it means to begin again, even when you're no
longer at your youngest. She announces the final song,
thanking everyone for being a part of this evening.
(09:37):
The three of them play a melody of coming home, not to a hosts
or a place, but to a part of oneself that had been waiting.
The chorus loops softly, then dissolves into a single chord
that fades, leaving silence. For a moment, the cafe holds its
(10:00):
breath. Then the applause rises again,
fuller than before. She smiles, shoulders dropping
as if some weight has eased. I don't know her, not really.
She's a friend of a friend, and yet I feel proud.
(10:22):
Proud of this stranger for standing in the intimacy of a
cafe and giving her work and heart to the room and to the
world. Listening party.
(10:42):
The caffe glows as I approach it, amber spilling into the
street like hot tea pouring intomy cup.
Inside, people close to the windows are clear through the
glass, while further back silhouettes move about, slow and
(11:03):
comforting. I push open the door and step
into the smell of roasted coffeebeans.
Although I know some cups are filled with something stronger,
there's a hum of anticipation that always builds before music
begins. I was invited here by a friend
(11:27):
who heard about this listening party through another friend,
and now I'm standing in the midst of this intimate space.
But I feel welcome knowing anyone who wanders in can stay.
The tables have been rearranged to open a space at the far end.
(11:49):
A stage no higher than a single step holds a guitar stand and a
microphone, a keyboard and a small drum kit.
I received my welcome almost right away from the musician
herself. She greets people near the
front, her guitar slung on a strap over her shoulder, her
(12:13):
hair tied up in a loose bun. She looks calm but focused, as
though she's been rehearsing this moment in her mind for
weeks, probably months. The clink of mugs and glasses
and the chatter fade as she steps up to the microphone.
(12:34):
She doesn't announce anything just yet, only settles her
fingers on the strings and begins.
Her voice is gentle enough for this atmosphere, but strong,
like waves that can lull you to sleep but also carry ships on
its surface. Her guitar follows, bright and
(12:57):
steady. The first song is about walking
familiar streets on her own, theway solitude can be a kind of
companion. I listen really tuning in to the
lyrics, noticing how personal they seem.
The best ones are always writtenthis way.
(13:20):
After this opening number, she introduces herself.
This album release is her first ever.
She's appreciative of the local support she's being shown,
including this crowd here to night.
She shifts into another song, the tempo quicker, a spark under
(13:42):
her fingers. The lyrics tell of a long drive
on narrow roads, getting to somewhere not yet known.
The keyboard adds the perfect undercurrents and the drummer
keeps it light. But sure, both of these women
behind her are smiling and shining in their element, their
(14:05):
skills inspirational. Then there's a song about a ship
that catches me by surprise. The keyboard and drums sit out
for this one, and the singer uses her voice accompanied only
by her hand, creating a steady beat against the hollow wood of
(14:27):
her guitar. Her words describe the strength
of the wind and the taste of salt spray in the mist.
Her eyes closed as she sings of how in all female crew have
become family to each other, creating safety and strong
(14:47):
culture for each member. The added harmony from the two
behind her builds at one point and I feel a shiver down my arms
at the beauty of it. They fade out as she carries the
song to the end. She points out some of the boats
(15:07):
crew members in the audience. We oblige with cheers, without
hesitation. Halfway through the set, she
places the guitar on the stand. Applause again bursts up, warm
and genuine. She smiles, thanks the room
(15:27):
quietly, and steps down for a short break.
People shift towards the counter, where snacks and drinks
are set out. I see plates of fruit and
cheese, bowls of roasted nuts, little glasses with sparkling
water and slices of lemon. The cafe owner pours coffee into
(15:52):
thick ceramic mugs, froth risingto the tops.
I see on every table a scattering of business cards
with a code on each one ready tobe scanned by anyone wanting to
take her music with them on their phones.
(16:13):
Displayed on a table to the sideis a small stack of CD's.
Happy to have a hard copy version.
I pull out the cash and pay the person at the table.
I turn around and find myself near the musician on the cover,
her hands free to shake in greeting or to sign my seedy
(16:38):
insert. She looks completely relaxed now
that she knows folks are enjoying themselves with
something she's created. She tells me she used to work at
the library, surrounded by beautiful stories but not quite
telling her own. I ask her how she's doing, how
(17:02):
it feels to be stepping in to this new era.
She says it feels like stepping into a bit of a current kind of
uncertain, but exciting. She doesn't know exactly where
its carrying her, but she knows she wants to ride with it.
I nod and tell her this night and this path seemed to suit
(17:26):
her, that she doesn't seem afraid at all.
Before I miss my chance, I ask her to sign my CD.
She's honored and writes her name and a thank you in gold
script taking her place back on the stage.
The room settles and the first notes drift out.
(17:48):
A ballad about holding space fora friend, about welcoming them
to share their truth, or just being with them when no words
are necessary. A song that remembers A
childhood field, tall grass bending in the wind.
Another, more upbeat tune wonders what it means to begin
(18:12):
again, even when you're no longer at your youngest.
She announces the final song, thanking everyone for being a
part of this evening. The three of them play a melody
of coming home, not to a hosts or a place, but to a part of
(18:34):
oneself that had been waiting. The chorus loops softly, then
dissolves into a single chord that fades, leaving silence.
For a moment, the cafe holds itsbreath.
Then the applause rises again, fuller than before.
(18:56):
She smiles, shoulders dropping as if some weight has eased.
I don't know her, not really. She's a friend of a friend, and
yet I feel proud. Proud of this stranger for
standing in the intimacy of a cafe and giving her work and
(19:18):
heart to the room and to the world.
I wish you sweet dreams.
Welcome to The Slow Life. I'm Jennifer Vino and I create,
narrate and design the soundscape of this village of
cosy stories to relax and unwind.
Each week I share an original story.
Read 2 times so you can relax even more during the second
(00:25):
reading. I'm happy to announce my
website, theslowlife.ca. It provides a space where we can
connect and I can bring you all things cozy.
Let's settle in with some easy breathing at your own pace.
(00:48):
With each inhale, let fresh air fill the space around your
heart. With each exhale, feel the calm
air spread through your body andflow out through your arms and
legs, gently in through your heart.
(01:12):
Gently out through your body, inthrough your heart, out through
your body. And now let's begin.
(01:36):
This story is called Listening Party, and it's about tuning in
to the lyrics, a ballad of holding space for a friend and
being proud of a stranger. The caffe glows as I approach
it, amber spilling into the street like hot tea pouring into
(02:01):
my cup. Inside, people close to the
windows are clear through the glass, while further back
silhouettes move about, slow andcomforting.
I push open the door and step into the smell of roasted coffee
(02:22):
beans. Although I know some cups are
filled with something stronger, there's a hum of anticipation
that always builds before music begins.
I was invited here by a friend who heard about this listening
party through another friend, and now I'm standing in the
(02:44):
midst of this intimate space. But I feel welcome knowing
anyone who wanders in can stay. The tables have been rearranged
to open a space at the far end. A stage no higher than a single
step holds a guitar stand and a microphone, a keyboard and a
(03:08):
small drum kit. I received my welcome almost
right away from the musician herself.
She greets people near the front, her guitar slung on a
strap over her shoulder, her hair tied up in a loose bun.
She looks calm but focused, as though she's been rehearsing
(03:31):
this moment in her mind for weeks, probably months.
The clink of mugs and glasses and the chatter fade as she
steps up to the microphone. She doesn't announce anything
just yet, only suttles her fingers on the strings and
(03:51):
begins. Her voice is gentle enough for
this atmosphere, but strong, like waves that can lull you to
sleep but also carry ships on its surface.
Her guitar follows, bright and steady.
The first song is about walking familiar streets on her own, the
(04:15):
way solitude can be a kind of companion.
I listen really tuning in to thelyrics, noticing how personal
they seem. The best ones are always written
this way. After this opening number, she
introduces herself. This album release is her first
(04:38):
ever. She's appreciative of the local
support she's being shown, including this crowd here to
night. She shifts into another song,
the tempo quicker, a spark underher fingers.
The lyrics tell of a long drive on narrow roads, getting to
(05:00):
somewhere not yet known. The keyboard adds the perfect
undercurrents and the drummer keeps it light.
But sure, both of these women behind her are smiling and
shining in their element, their skills inspirational.
Then there's a song about a shipthat catches me by surprise.
(05:25):
The keyboard and drums sit out for this one, and the singer
uses her voice accompanied only by her hand, creating a steady
beat against the hollow wood of her guitar.
Her words describe the strength of the wind and the taste of
salt spray in the mist. Her eyes closed as she sings of
(05:51):
how in all female crew have become family to each other,
creating safety and strong culture for each member.
The added harmony from the two behind her builds at one point
and I feel a shiver down my armsat the beauty of it.
(06:11):
They fade out as she carries thesong to the end.
She points out some of the boatscrew members in the audience.
We oblige with cheers, without hesitation.
Halfway through the set, she places the guitar on the stand.
(06:31):
Applause again bursts up, warm and genuine.
She smiles, thanks the room quietly, and steps down for a
short break. People shift towards the
counter, where snacks and drinksare set out.
I see plates of fruit and cheese, bowls of roasted nuts,
(06:54):
little glasses with sparkling water and slices of lemon.
The cafe owner pours coffee intothick ceramic mugs, froth rising
to the tops. I see on every table a
scattering of business cards with a code on each one ready to
(07:17):
be scanned by anyone wanting to take her music with them on
their phones. Displayed on a table to the side
is a small stack of CD's. Happy to have a hard copy
version. I pull out the cash and pay the
person at the table. I turn around and find myself
(07:41):
near the musician on the cover, her hands free to shake in
greeting or to sign my seedy insert.
She looks completely relaxed nowthat she knows folks are
enjoying themselves with something she's created.
She tells me she used to work atthe library, surrounded by
(08:05):
beautiful stories but not quite telling her own.
I ask her how she's doing, how it feels to be stepping in to
this new era. She says it feels like stepping
into a bit of a current kind of uncertain, but exciting.
She doesn't know exactly where it's carrying her, but she knows
(08:30):
she wants to ride with it. I nod and tell her this night
and this path seemed to suit her, that she doesn't seem
afraid at all. Before I miss my chance, I ask
her to sign my CD. She's honored and writes her
name and a thank you in gold script taking her place back on
(08:53):
the stage. The room settles and the first
notes drift out. A ballad about holding space for
a friend, about welcoming them to share their truth, or just
being with them when no words are necessary.
A song that remembers A childhood field, tall grass
(09:16):
bending in the wind. Another, more upbeat tune
wonders what it means to begin again, even when you're no
longer at your youngest. She announces the final song,
thanking everyone for being a part of this evening.
(09:37):
The three of them play a melody of coming home, not to a hosts
or a place, but to a part of oneself that had been waiting.
The chorus loops softly, then dissolves into a single chord
that fades, leaving silence. For a moment, the cafe holds its
(10:00):
breath. Then the applause rises again,
fuller than before. She smiles, shoulders dropping
as if some weight has eased. I don't know her, not really.
She's a friend of a friend, and yet I feel proud.
(10:22):
Proud of this stranger for standing in the intimacy of a
cafe and giving her work and heart to the room and to the
world. Listening party.
(10:42):
The caffe glows as I approach it, amber spilling into the
street like hot tea pouring intomy cup.
Inside, people close to the windows are clear through the
glass, while further back silhouettes move about, slow and
(11:03):
comforting. I push open the door and step
into the smell of roasted coffeebeans.
Although I know some cups are filled with something stronger,
there's a hum of anticipation that always builds before music
begins. I was invited here by a friend
(11:27):
who heard about this listening party through another friend,
and now I'm standing in the midst of this intimate space.
But I feel welcome knowing anyone who wanders in can stay.
The tables have been rearranged to open a space at the far end.
(11:49):
A stage no higher than a single step holds a guitar stand and a
microphone, a keyboard and a small drum kit.
I received my welcome almost right away from the musician
herself. She greets people near the
front, her guitar slung on a strap over her shoulder, her
(12:13):
hair tied up in a loose bun. She looks calm but focused, as
though she's been rehearsing this moment in her mind for
weeks, probably months. The clink of mugs and glasses
and the chatter fade as she steps up to the microphone.
(12:34):
She doesn't announce anything just yet, only settles her
fingers on the strings and begins.
Her voice is gentle enough for this atmosphere, but strong,
like waves that can lull you to sleep but also carry ships on
its surface. Her guitar follows, bright and
(12:57):
steady. The first song is about walking
familiar streets on her own, theway solitude can be a kind of
companion. I listen really tuning in to the
lyrics, noticing how personal they seem.
The best ones are always writtenthis way.
(13:20):
After this opening number, she introduces herself.
This album release is her first ever.
She's appreciative of the local support she's being shown,
including this crowd here to night.
She shifts into another song, the tempo quicker, a spark under
(13:42):
her fingers. The lyrics tell of a long drive
on narrow roads, getting to somewhere not yet known.
The keyboard adds the perfect undercurrents and the drummer
keeps it light. But sure, both of these women
behind her are smiling and shining in their element, their
(14:05):
skills inspirational. Then there's a song about a ship
that catches me by surprise. The keyboard and drums sit out
for this one, and the singer uses her voice accompanied only
by her hand, creating a steady beat against the hollow wood of
(14:27):
her guitar. Her words describe the strength
of the wind and the taste of salt spray in the mist.
Her eyes closed as she sings of how in all female crew have
become family to each other, creating safety and strong
(14:47):
culture for each member. The added harmony from the two
behind her builds at one point and I feel a shiver down my arms
at the beauty of it. They fade out as she carries the
song to the end. She points out some of the boats
(15:07):
crew members in the audience. We oblige with cheers, without
hesitation. Halfway through the set, she
places the guitar on the stand. Applause again bursts up, warm
and genuine. She smiles, thanks the room
(15:27):
quietly, and steps down for a short break.
People shift towards the counter, where snacks and drinks
are set out. I see plates of fruit and
cheese, bowls of roasted nuts, little glasses with sparkling
water and slices of lemon. The cafe owner pours coffee into
(15:52):
thick ceramic mugs, froth risingto the tops.
I see on every table a scattering of business cards
with a code on each one ready tobe scanned by anyone wanting to
take her music with them on their phones.
(16:13):
Displayed on a table to the sideis a small stack of CD's.
Happy to have a hard copy version.
I pull out the cash and pay the person at the table.
I turn around and find myself near the musician on the cover,
her hands free to shake in greeting or to sign my seedy
(16:38):
insert. She looks completely relaxed now
that she knows folks are enjoying themselves with
something she's created. She tells me she used to work at
the library, surrounded by beautiful stories but not quite
telling her own. I ask her how she's doing, how
(17:02):
it feels to be stepping in to this new era.
She says it feels like stepping into a bit of a current kind of
uncertain, but exciting. She doesn't know exactly where
its carrying her, but she knows she wants to ride with it.
I nod and tell her this night and this path seemed to suit
(17:26):
her, that she doesn't seem afraid at all.
Before I miss my chance, I ask her to sign my CD.
She's honored and writes her name and a thank you in gold
script taking her place back on the stage.
The room settles and the first notes drift out.
(17:48):
A ballad about holding space fora friend, about welcoming them
to share their truth, or just being with them when no words
are necessary. A song that remembers A
childhood field, tall grass bending in the wind.
Another, more upbeat tune wonders what it means to begin
(18:12):
again, even when you're no longer at your youngest.
She announces the final song, thanking everyone for being a
part of this evening. The three of them play a melody
of coming home, not to a hosts or a place, but to a part of
(18:34):
oneself that had been waiting. The chorus loops softly, then
dissolves into a single chord that fades, leaving silence.
For a moment, the cafe holds itsbreath.
Then the applause rises again, fuller than before.
(18:56):
She smiles, shoulders dropping as if some weight has eased.
I don't know her, not really. She's a friend of a friend, and
yet I feel proud. Proud of this stranger for
standing in the intimacy of a cafe and giving her work and
(19:18):
heart to the room and to the world.
I wish you sweet dreams.
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