Caught in the Rain

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“To bed time stories, for everyone, in which nothing much happens, you feel good, and then,”

you fall asleep, I'm Catherine Nikolai, I write and read all the stories you hear on nothing much happens, audio engineering is by Bob Woodersheim. We give to a different charity each week, and this week, we are giving to the Canadian

Red Cross, Wildfire Relief Fund, that are working to help people and communities in need.

Learn more about them in our show notes. In our new app, you can, of course, listen to all of our podcasts, ad-free, but you can also

“listen to your favorite bedtime stories with extra soothing background sounds, like rain,”

or nature sounds, or singing bowls, and there is so much more to our app. Like yoga and meditation classes taught by me, village projects and live events, all

at nothingmuch happens.com.

I have a story to tell you, just by resting your mind on it, by listening to the sound of my voice, we will shift you from the busyness of your brains to fault mode network, to the peace of its task-positive mode, where sleep comes easily.

“I'll read our story twice, and I'll go a little slower, the second time through.”

If you wake again in the night, don't hesitate to just push play, and you'll drop right back off. Our story tonight is called "Cott" in the rain, and it's a story about a boat ride, taken as the summer winds down. It's also about horseshoes, and fresh, clean beach towels, the quiet rocking of the waves,

the space between dreams and awareness, and the rush of cool air and dim light that comes with a summer storm. So lights out campers, snuggled down, and let it feel good, let it sink in, but you are in your safe place, about to have a wonderful night's sleep. I'll be here keeping watch as you rest.

Take a deep breath in through your nose, let it out your mouth, nice one more breathe in. And out, good, caught in the rain. I sleep so well on the boat, but too well maybe. We dropped anchor out where the water is clear all the way down to the bottom. Still inside of shore, but where all we could hear was the water, lapping at the sides

of the boat, and the birds calling as they flew overhead. And I dropped the anchor, and watched it float slowly down to the bottom, and settle into the sand. I smiled at its homemade shape. It was cobbled together from four horses, tied with a sturdy, braided nylon rope.

nearby, so who knows where it actually had come from.

“It was one of those long-lasting household objects, but had simply always been there.”

It had held open the shed door, spent many winters pinning down the frost ploths in the rose garden. And for many years of my childhood was stuck under the short leg of the picnic table to keep it level. A few years ago, the old boat anchor had been caught in some mud, and tree roots, too close

to shore, and had to be roughly yanked to the surface where it arose, broken into two separate pieces.

“I'd gone hunting for something to replace it, and had found the bundle of horses' shoes”

and rope on the top shelf of the workbench in the garage. My thought we'd only use it for the day, figuring it wouldn't work well enough to be a long-term fix, but it was weighty and awkwardly shaped enough to catch against the sand just fine, so it was still holding the boat in place someers later. After I dropped it today, I shifted to sit on the edge of the pontoon's bow.

The anchor rope talked beside me, and the water washing over my feet and ankles.

“We were far enough into the summer now, that the once-cold lakewater was almost worn.”

People said, "It's like a bathtub, but I didn't know what kind of baths they were used to taking, because it was still plenty refreshing to me." I jumped in soon after, paddled around the boat a couple of times. The millions of leaves, and the trees at the shore, rippled. And I scanned over them, noticing a few that were beginning to pale, from their deep and

world-green, to a shade more like spring grass. Eventually I hauled myself up the ladder and climbed back onto deck. This was our favorite way to boat. With a big, rocky group and loud music blazing down the lake at top speed, but just the two of us, and our books stretched out on towels, alternating between dozing and reading,

and basking in the sun. The pontoon's bimony top was open, so that we had our choice of shade or sun. And I opted for some sun this time.

I spread my towel over the sun deck at the back, and laid down, tucking a second towel,

rolled up under my neck. And at bed time, I could not fall asleep lying this way. I could be perfectly comfortable, the pillow supporting in just the right way, a comfort or fluffy and warm, but my body would nag again and again, that I rolled to my side. As I pull one leg up and stretch the other out long.

And when I did, I almost always immediately fell asleep, but here on the boat, with just

the life of me.

“The boat rocked gently, as waves rolled under it.”

And soon I was slipping into that liminal space between wakefulness and sleep.

That place where you are still a little aware, but the dreams have started, like the previews before the movie, but making a whole lot less sense. There is a term for it, an interesting sounding one, in fact, hypnogogic hallucination. I looked it up and was assured to see it was a perfectly normal human experience, a normal phenomenon, which sounded a bit like an oxymoron, but then many things contradict themselves.

“My mind drifted, occasionally more keenly aware, when another boat drove by, and sent”

a small wake of waves our way.

Sometimes deeply sunk, in that good sort of paralyzing sleep, that feels like you've been weighted down to your bed, like grandpa's old horseshoes, or anchoring me to the soft vinyl of the sun deck. At some point, I started to become aware of a change in temperature, or maybe in the brightness of the light, something was different, and it was snagging against my sleepy mind, because

it meant something.

“All at once, I realized what it meant, and sat up clumsily from my seat, to see that we had”

both awoken, and we're looking at each other in confusion. The sun was hidden behind low clouds, and the breeze had picked up to a cool wind.

The air smelled of rain, and I finally got a message to my mouth, saying, "It's going

to storm." We were up in a moment, each of us tending to the tasks needed to get the boat back in motion. I pulled at the anchor rope, as I heard the engines kicked a life that had just clunked down onto the deck, as we began to sail towards home.

I reached for the towels, tucking them into our beach bag, slipped the cooler behind the seat, so it wouldn't slide around, and turned to look at the darkest of the clouds, which seemed to be racing toward us, as we sped toward it. I can see the rain, I called, in a raised voice against the wind, and it was suggested that I get under the bimony and fast, which I did.

We were only two minutes from our dock when it hit us, but it was coming down in buckets, and by the time the boat was pulled up to the pylanes, and we'd gotten her securely moored, who were both soaking wet. Anything that didn't absolutely need to come ashore was left on the boat, and we turned and ran down the dock toward land.

We couldn't help but laugh.

pure experience of the water on our skin.

“The thick grass under our feet, as we raced up the yard toward the deck.”

We'd each grabbed a towel that we held over our heads, and the thought made me laugh till tears trickled from the sides of my eyes. We'd gone out on the water, bends swimming in the water, then the water had come to

us, and we'd run from it, sheltered against it.

We both laughed, and rather than rush into the house.

“We stood for one more moment, letting the rain wash down our necks and over our feet.”

I was glad to have been caught in the rain. I sleep so well on the boat, too well maybe. We'd dropped anchor out where the water is clear, all the way down to the bottom. All in sight of shore, but where all we could hear was the water, lapping at the sides of the boat, and the birds calling as they flew overhead.

And I dropped the anchor in, and watched it float slowly down to the bottom, to settle into the sand. I smiled at its home-made shape. It was cobbled together from four horseshoes, tied with a sturdy, braided nylon rope.

“I think my grandfather had made it, though even in his day there hadn't been horses anywhere”

nearby, so who knows where it actually had come from?

It was one of those long-lasting household objects that had simply always been there.

It had held open the shed door, spent winters, pinning down the frost cloths in the rose garden, and for many years of my childhood was stuck under the short leg of the picnic table to keep it level. A few years ago, the old boat anchor had been caught in some mud and tree roots to close to shore, and had to be roughly yanked to the surface, where it arose in two separate pieces.

I gone hunting for something to replace it, and had found the bundle of horses and rope on the top shelf of the workbench in the garage. I thought we'd only use it for the day, fingering it wouldn't work well enough to be a long-term fix, but it was weighty, and awkwardly shaped enough to catch against the sand just fine, so it was still holding the boat in place, summers later.

After I dropped it today, I shifted to sit on the edge of the pontoon's bow.

We were far enough into the summer now, that the once cold lake water was almost warm.

“People said it's like a bathtub, but I didn't know what kind of baths they were used”

to taking, because it was still plenty refreshing to me. I jumped in soon after, and paddled around the boat a couple of times. The millions of leaves in the trees, at the shore, rippled. When I scanned over them, noticing a few that were beginning to pale, from their deep

“emerald green to a shade, more like spring grass, eventually I hauled myself up the ladder,”

and climbed back onto the deck. This was our favorite way to boat, not with a big, raucous group and loud music, blazing down the lake at top speed, but just the two of us, and our books stretched out on towels, alternating between dosing and reading, and basking in the sun.

“The pontoon's bimini top was open, so that we had our choice of shade or sun.”

When I opted for some sun this time, I spread my towel over the sun deck at the back,

and laid down, tucking a second one, rolled up under my neck.

And at bedtime, I could not fall asleep lying this way. I could be perfectly comfortable, the pillow supporting in just the right way, the comforter fluffy and warm, but my body would nag again and again, that I rolled to my side, pull one leg up and stretch the other out long.

And I did, I almost always immediately fell asleep.

But here on the boat, with just an old beach towel for a pillow, in the bright light, my couldn't have stayed awake for the life of me. Goed rocked gently as waves rolled under it, and soon I was slipping into that liminal space between wakefulness and sleep, that place where you are still a little aware, but the dreams have started, like the previews before the movie, but taking a whole lot less

sense. There's a term for it, an interesting sounding one, in fact, hypno-gogic hallucination. I looked it up and was assured to see it was a perfectly normal human experience, a normal

My mind drifted, occasionally more keenly aware, when another boat drove by, and sent

to small wake of waves our way.

“Sometimes more deeply sunk in, and that good sort of paralyzing sleep, that feels like you've”

been waded down to your bed, like grandpa's old horses shoes were anchoring me to the soft final of the sun deck.

At some point, I started to become aware of a change in temperature, or maybe in the brightness

of the light, something was different, and it was snagging against my sleepy mind, because it meant something.

“All at once, I realized what it meant, and sat up clumsily from my seat, to see we had both”

awoken, and we're looking at each other in confusion. The sun was hidden behind low clouds, and the breeze had picked up to a cool wind.

The air smelled of rain, and I finally got a message to my mouth, saying, "Skowing the storm

you are up in a moment. Each of us tending to the tasks needed to get the boat back in motion."

“I pulled at the anchor rope, as I heard the engines kicked alive.”

It had just clunked down onto the deck, as we began to sail toward home. I reached for the towels, tucking them into our beach bag, pushed cooler behind the seats so it wouldn't slide around, and turned to look at the darkest of the clouds, which seemed to be racing toward us, as we spread toward it. I can see the rain I called in a raised voice against the wind, and it was suggested that

I get under the bimony and fast, which I did. We were only two minutes from our dock when it hit us, but it was coming down in buckets. And by the time the boat was pulled up to the pylanes, and we'd gotten her securely moored. We were both soaking wet.

Anything that didn't absolutely need to come ashore was left on the boat. When we turned and ran down the dock toward land, we couldn't help but laugh. The cold rain shocked the system, shaking out any wayward thoughts, and leaving us in the pure experience of the water on our skin. The thick grass under our feet, as we raced up the yard toward the deck.

more until the tears trickled from the sides of my eyes.

“We'd gone out on the water, been swimming in the water, and then the water had come to”

us, and we'd run from it sheltered against it.

We both laughed, and rather than rush into the house.

“We stood for one more moment, letting the rain wash down our necks and over our feet.”

I was glad to have been caught in the rain, sweet dreams.