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“Hi, I'm Catherine Nikolai, and if you're looking for something gentle to listen to, that”
isn't news or true crime or self-improvement, I made this for you.
Always from the village of nothing much is like easy listening, but for fiction, cozy,
warm, calm stories about ordinary moments that feel a little magical. They're grounding, soothing, and quietly uplifting, without being cheesy. Relaxing, without putting you to sleep, and just dreamy enough to remind you that they're still sweetness in everyday life. Click for your commute while you're tidying up, or when you want a little escape, that
feels simple and good.
Search for stories from the village of nothing much, wherever you listen.
You already know how much good sleep matters, because when you sleep while everything feels a little easier, your mood, your focus, even how your body feels the next day. When you don't, I can feel like you're dragging that tiredness with you everywhere.
“That's why I want to tell you about the sleep bundle from cured nutrition, which I've”
been using as part of my own wine-down routine, and which I gifted to another friend today. What I appreciate about it is that it's designed to help your body ease into rest, rather than knocking you out, or leaving you groggy the next morning. The sleep bundle combines two formulas that work together to support deeper, more restorative sleep.
It includes their Zen capsules, which are made with calming botanicals, like salarian root, chamomile, ashwaganda, and magnesium, along with broad spectrum CBD to help quiet the mind and relax the body.
“The bundle also includes their CBN night apps, or night oil, which support deeper sleep”
quality through the night. I take them about an hour before bed. Usually, while I'm dimming the lights, getting into my reading, I like that they work with my natural sleep rhythms, and I wake up feeling rested, not foggy, and that makes a big difference. Right now, the sleep bundle is already 10% off, and you can take an additional 20% off at checkout, with my code, sweet dreams, the discount stack, plus all orders over $100 automatically
qualify for free shipping, including the sleep bundle. Visit curenutrition.com/nothingmatch and use my code, sweet dreams, and check out for the extra savings, that see you are e.dnutrition.com/nothingmatch, coupon code, sweet dreams. Welcome to bedtime stories for everyone, in which nothing much happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep. I'm Katherine Nikolai. I write and read all the stories you hear
on nothing much happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Widdersheim. We are bringing you an on-core episode tonight, meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past. It could have been recorded with different equipment in a different location, and since I'm a person and not a computer, I sometimes sound just slightly different, but the stories
are always soothing and family friendly, and our wishes for you are always deep-brast and sweet dreams.
Now, I have a story to tell you, and it is like a lullaby for your busy mind. It will occupy it just enough to let you drift deeply to sleep. Just by listening regularly, we will train your brain to fall asleep faster, and return to sleep more easily. I'll tell the story twice, when I'll go a little bit slower the second time through. If you wake in the night, don't hesitate to turn a story right back on, or just think through any of
the details that you can remember. Even a pleasant memory can send you back to sleep.
This will get easier with time and practice, so have patience if you are new ...
Our story tonight is called Mud Larking on the River, Part 2, and it's a story about a
“search for ordinary treasures in the sand on a bright spring morning. It's also about”
a coin with a hole through its center, the red and white pole of a barber shop, for Cynthia stems, and curiosity, and imagination, and seeing things around us with new eyes. There are days when my brain feels crowded, too many decisions, too many open tabs, back to back work that asks me to stay sharp even when I feel a little foggy. And on those days, it's tempting to reach for something caffeinated, but I've learned that jittery energy
and an afternoon crash don't help me think any better, they certainly don't suit the work
“I do. That's why I've been using Nature Sunshine Brain Edge. Nature Sunshine Brain Edge combines”
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performance without the crash. I notice that I feel clearer and more steady when I'm recording, writing, or working through a long-to-do list. It enhances focus and clarity. The new traffic botanicals help me concentrate and stay sharp. It supports memory and learning, promoting recall and mental stamina with ingredients like Bacopa and Ginko, and it delivers smooth, sustained energy. The wild harvested Gerba Mate provides natural caffeine without the jitters
or the sudden drop-off. I like that it's a simple drink mix, I can have it hot or cold, if it's easily into my broader wellness routine, especially on mentally demanding days. So don't fight through feeling foggy and liparject. Ignite your mental performance with Brain Edge. Nature Sunshine
is offering 20% off your first order plus free shipping. Go to naturesonshine.com and use the code
nothingmuch, a checkout. That's code [email protected]. Now, it's time friend snuggled down into your sheets and get as comfortable as you can. The world will wait for you till tomorrow. Soften your jaw, let your shoulders and neck relax and your eyes close. I'll guard you with my voice as you sleep. So you can let go. Really. Let go. Take a deep breath in through your nose.
“And sigh from your mouth. What's due one more all the way in?”
And out with sound. Good. Mud-larking on the river. Part two. I couldn't get over how good it smelled this morning. The scent of the fresh moving water as the river flowed past. The good earthy smell of the sand and silt as I poked through it with my gloves. And the air. Though it was too soon for any of the trees to bud.
Or even the first of the spring grass to grow. It smelled somehow green.
I was drinking it all in. Knowing that snow could come tomorrow. And push spring off for a few more weeks. I had already had my first find on the riverbank. I was mud-larking. A term and activity. I wasn't familiar with. Until my beach coming friends taught me about it.
To mud-lark was to search the soft banks beside a body of water.
For interesting and valuable objects.
In some places, you might find rings from hundreds of years before.
“Lost perhaps when someone dove into the water on a hot day.”
Or tossed from a bridge in anger when a heart was broken. Around here, most finds were a lot more recent. So to bottles from a few decades before. Or an anchovy can with the keys still wound into its metal lid. More often than not, they were simple objects of daily life. But I loved the idea of unearthing them.
And imagining a story to go with them. How they arrived in the sand on this early spring morning.
And my first find today was a coin.
“I'd spotted the edge of it as I poked through some pebbles close to the water.”
It was a pretty bronze. And while it wasn't exceptionally old, it had been minted in the 90s. It was from another country, which felt pretty special. And best of all, it had a hole through its center.
A feature I'd never seen in currency before.
When I pulled it from the ground, the hole was plugged with sand. And I rinsed it in the cold water of the river till it sparkled.
“Wherever it was from, it represented five of something.”
And I thought how we tended to count things in five's and tens. I'd read about examples of other counting systems through history. Some civilizations used a base 12, or a base 20, or even a base 60 system. Base 12, in particular, still showed up a lot in our world. 12 months in a year, 12 inches in a foot, 12 doughnuts in a dozen.
The equinox, now just a few days off, on which we celebrated 12 hours of day and 12 hours of night. As I slipped the coin into my pocket, I decided that it had been brought home after a trip abroad years ago. The change from a nice cream, bought on the last walk through a plaza for heading to the airport. It had become a token of remembrance for that time in a foreign and exciting place.
And the person who brought it home kept it in their pocket for years. Rubbing it between their thumb and forefinger. Whenever they needed to be reminded about how wide the world was. How many possibilities lay ahead of them? Then one day while walking across a bridge, on a chilly late autumn afternoon, somewhere far
upstream of here, they pushed their hands into their pockets. Thinking it was about time to start grabbing gloves on the way out of the house in the morning. And the coin had slipped out and had hit the walk beside them and rolled toward the water. And before they could do anything about it, tumbled over the edge of the bridge and splashed into the river below. There had been a moment of loss. They'd stood looking down into the water,
a little shocked that it was gone. Then they had started to smile down at their ripple reflection. The token had been about the joy of adventure hadn't it?
Well, now it was on an adventure of its own and they wished it well.
Further down the bank, I spotted a shape that was too regular to be a stone.
“A reflective surface that I thought might be glass.”
As I got closer, I saw that it was the bottom of a bottle. And I wondered how much of it was left beneath the surface. Sometimes I would come away with just the very bottom piece of glass or a partial broken vessel. I started to carefully clear the sand around it until it came free.
To my delight it was unbroken and whole.
It was pretty shaped with a square bottom and a long sloping neck.
“It reminded me a bit of the bottles of oil and vinegar set out on the tables at the diner.”
The glass was tinted a light blue and its cork had survived its time in the water and sand. There was a remnant of a label, though any print that had been there. Was long go faded and washed away.
As I rinsed it in the river, I decided that it had held
heritonic, a precursor to our gels and mooses of today. And that this particular bottle had sat on the counter of a barber shop when my grandfather was a young man.
“The red and white pole in the window had spun on a slow moving motor.”
Making a sound that was so constant and eventually failed to be noticed. On a day like today, a sunny Saturday, the shop would have been full of customers. Sitting in their chairs, gossiping and sipping from paper cups of coffee. We're tilted back with steaming towels on their faces. You could lift this in which Hazel sent it to the air and every now and then the room would break
up with laughter at someone's joke or story. I imagined my own grandfather there, a little shy around the others, quiet but enjoying the stories and camaraderie as he eyed himself in the mirror. Watching as the barber reached for the glass bottle on the shelf and shook a little tonic into his hand to finish off my grandfather's fresh cut.
After the stray hairs had been brushed off his collar and it stepped back out into the march sunlight, he'd gone where to the diner for a sandwich, combed to dress for a date, to the movies for a matinee. Maybe my next time mudlarking would tip my imagination to an answer. For now, I would take my treasure's home.
Coin I'd thread onto a necklace to be my own token for a while. And the bottle to hold the stem of forcythia when it bloomed in a few weeks. I took one more look up and down the river. I wondered which objects on my own shelves in my own pockets. Might inspire some future archaeologist when dug out of the mud.
The things we take for granted can seem magical when seen with the right eyes.
Mudlarking on the river, part two.
I couldn't get over how good it smelled this morning.
“The scent of the fresh moving water as the river flowed past.”
The good earthy smell of the sand and salt, as I poked through it with my gloves. And the air, though it was too soon for any of the trees to bud,
or even the first of the spring grass to grow.
It smelled somehow green. I was drinking it all in, knowing that snow could come tomorrow. And push spring off for a few more weeks.
“I'd already had my first find on the riverbank.”
I was mudlarking, a term, and activity. I wasn't familiar with until my beach coming friends had taught me about it. To mudlark was to search the soft banks beside a body of water, for interesting and valuable objects. In some places, you might find rings from hundreds of years before. Bost perhaps when someone dove into the water on a hot day.
We're tossed from a bridge in anger when a heart was broken.
“Around here, most finds were a lot more recent.”
Soda bottles from a few decades before. Or an anchovy can, with the keys still wound into its metal lid. More often than not, they were simple objects of daily life. But I loved the idea of unirfing them, and imagining a story to go with them, and how they arrived in the sand.
On this early spring morning, my first find today was a coin.
I'd spotted the edge of it, as I poked through some pebbles close to the water. It was a pretty bronze, and while it wasn't exceptionally old, it had been minted in the 90s. It was from another country, which felt pretty special. Best of all, it had a hole right through its center.
Feature I'd never seen in currency before.
When I pulled it from the ground, the hole was plugged with sand, and I rinsed it in the cold water of the river, till it sparkled. Wherever it was from, it represented five of something. And I thought of how we tended to count things, and five's, and tens. I'd read about examples of other counting systems through history.
Some civilizations used a base 12, or a base 20, or even a base 60 system. Base 12 in particular still showed up a lot in our world. 12 months in a year, 12 inches in a foot, 12 donuts in a dozen.
The equinox, now just a few days off, on which we celebrated 12 hours of day,
and 12 hours of night.
As I slipped the coin into my pocket,
“I decided that it had been brought home, after a trip abroad, years ago.”
The change from an ice cream, bought on the last walk through a plaza, before heading to the airport. It had become a token of remembrance. For that time, in a foreign, an exciting place,
and the person who brought it home, kept it in their pocket for years,
rubbing it between their thumb and forefinger, whenever they needed to be reminded,
“about how wide the world was, how many possibilities lay ahead of them.”
Then one day, while walking across a bridge, on a chilly, late autumn afternoon, somewhere far upstream of here, they pushed their hands into their pockets.
Thinking it was about time to start grabbing gloves on the way out of the house in the morning,
and the coin had slipped out. It had hit the walk beside them, and rolled toward the water, and before they could do anything about it, tumbleed over the edge of the bridge, it splashed into the river below. There had been a moment of loss. They'd stood, looking down into the water, a little shocked, but it was gone. Then they had started to smile down at their ripple reflection.
“The token had been about the joy of adventure, hadn't it?”
Well, now it was on an adventure of its own, and they wished it well. Further down the bank, I spotted a shape that was too regular to be a stone, a reflective surface that I thought might be glass. As I got closer, I saw that it was the bottom of a bottle, and I wondered how much of it was left beneath the surface.
Sometimes I would come away with just the very bottom piece of glass, a partial broken vessel. I started to clear away the sand until it came free. To my delight, it was unbroken and whole. It was pretty shaped with a square bottom and a long sloping neck. It reminded me a bit of the bottles of oil and vinegar set out on the tables at the diner. The glass was tinted a light blue,
and its cork had survived its time in the water and sand. There was a remnant of a label, though any prints that had been there was long ago faded and washed away. As I rinsed it in the river, I decided that it had held aeratonic, a precursor to our gels and mooses of today, and that this particular bottle
Had sat on the counter of a barbershop when my grandfather was a young man.
The red and white pole in the window had spun on a slow moving motor, making a sound that was so
“constant. It eventually failed to be noticed. On a day like today, a sunny Saturday,”
the shop would have been full of customers, sitting in their chairs, gossiping and
sipping from paper cups of coffee, or tilted back with steaming towels on their faces.
You could lift us and witch hazel, scented the air, and every now and then the room would break
“up with laughter, with someone's joke or story.”
I imagined my own grandfather there, a little shy around the others,
quiet, but enjoying the stories and camaraderie, as he eyed himself in the mirror. Watching as the barber reached for the glass bottle on the shelf, and shook a little tonic into his
“hand to finish off my grandfather's fresh cut.”
After the stray hairs had been brushed off his collar, we'd stepped out into the march sunlight and gone, where to the diner for a sandwich, home to dress for a date, to the movies for a matinee, maybe my next time mudlarking would tip my imagination to an answer. For now I would take my treasure's home. The coin I'd thread onto a necklace, to be my own token for a while,
and the bottle to hold a stamp of forcythia when it bloomed in a few weeks. I took one more look up and down the river. I wondered which objects on my own shelves in my own pockets. Might inspire some future archaeologist when dug out of the mud. These things we take for granted can seem magical, when seen with the right eyes, sweet dreams.
