Something Old (Encore)

all while supporting the show you love, subscribe now.

“To bed time 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 Woodersheim. 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 and a different location, and since I'm a person,

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, we have a lot of new listeners lately, so welcome. I have a tried and true method for helping you fall asleep and return to sleep if you wake in the night. It involves a bit of brain training, so be patient if you are new to this. Just by listening, by resting your mind on the sound of my voice, we'll catch enough of your attention to shift your

brain activity into its task-positive mode, and that is where you'll fall asleep. So just

listen, relax, I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time

through. If you wake again in the night, you can turn an episode right back on, you'll be out in a flash, or just think through any part of the story, you can remember. Our story tonight is called Something Old, and it's a story about a gift found on a treasure hunt. It's also about taking the time to do something well, an embroidery hoop, an orange ribbon, and seeing magic in everyday objects that can tell stories from the past.

“I really think your bedroom should feel like a place that's taking care of you. For me that”

starts with the bed itself. I've been using quince bedding, and I love how easy it is to make the whole room feel softer and more inviting, without doing some enormous bedroom makeover. They're 100% European linen, gets softer with every wash, and has that relaxed, slightly rumbled look that I personally love. And if you're more of a crisp sheet's person, they also make organic cotton bedding that's breathable and incredibly soft. I also love adding a lightweight quilt,

or I really love their cover lit this time of year when the nights start getting just a little cooler. Quince works directly with ethical factories and cuts out the middle men. So everything is priced 50 to 80% less than similar brands. I use quince at home. I'm wearing quince right now as I

“record this, I genuinely love the quality, and I think it's a really lovely way to make bed time feel”

a little better. Upgrade your everyday, download the quince app for ab exclusive offers or go to quince.com/nothingmuch. Get free shipping on your order and 365 day returns. Now available in Canada and the UK too. That's quai nce.com/nothingmuch. Now lights out. Set yourself up for a good night's sleep. Get comfortable and let your whole body relax into your sheets. You have enough. You do enough. You are enough. Take a deep breath in through your nose.

Let it out your mouth. Nice, one more, breathe in. And out.

It took me a while to find it, in fact. It had been pushed all the way back on a shelf

“over the washer and dryer. And I'd had to get a step stool out to bring it down.”

But I needed it. It was required. In order for this to be done properly. And that mattered to me. I'd spent a good bit of time trying to find the right thing. After the invitation had come, we'd RSVP'd right away. Yes, for both of us. And I'd circled the date on the calendar that hung inside the pantry, like siding, a wedding, and at the old inn, it would be beautiful. I was sure.

“I imagined the large porch that ran along the back of the house, lit with candles and stringlites.”

The path down to the lake decorated with flowers. And the great ballroom up on the second floor.

Filled with folk stancing and raising their glasses to toast the couple. There'd be favors and giant cake and a pretty table for gifts and cards. A gift. What should it be? I wanted to give them something sentimental rather than practical. Let someone else get them a new blender or fancy wine glasses.

“And I suppose that is part of who I am. I spend a lot of my time taking care of old precious things.”

Things that are kept even though they are not at all practical. There is a great old house, a little outside of the village. It was once a private residence. But has for decades now been a sort of museum. It's rooms full of the restored and archived belongings of the family that lived there.

As well as things from other villagers at the past. There is a room on the third floor.

That is full of maps, local, and exotic. Hand drawn or printed on inky presses long ago. In the entryway, on a table under an impressive chandelier, is a meticulously built miniature of a sailing ship. With a rudder and crows nest, a hand carved figurehead of a mermaid. There are rooms of books and portraits. The old kitchens are full of patented copper pans, hanging from hooks, and clever cooking

apparatuses. The newly renovated solarium houses rare tropical plants, and a collection of hanging prisms that throw rainbows against the floor and walls on sunny days. Then there are the grounds. Gardens upon gardens tended by a crowd of volunteers each year. Their full of walking paths that the public are welcome to and frequently use. There is a labyrinth that takes a good half hour to walk and a stretch of woods full of deer.

lovely old house, I am regularly astonished that I get to work there.

“For only there a few days a week now. I spent most of my career teaching history at the college.”

And when I was ready to downshift a bit, I found a warm welcome at the great house. I spent some time going through boxes and cataloging. Sometimes teaching on the history of the house and the objects in it. And sometimes just scouting out new finds in the state sales and at swap meets. And that's where I found my wedding gift. I'd been deep in a wardrobe at a

“estate sale. An old Victorian house that was being cleaned out completely for a renovation.”

It was full of old suits. And while I didn't have much interest in the clothes,

I always checked pockets for pens or little notebooks. The everyday objects that got

carried around almost like afterthoughts. They had a lot to tell us about the quotidian moments of their owner's lives. I'd come away with a bare money clip with initials carved into the tarnished silver and a knob of a pencil with teeth marks in the wood. I chuckled as my own

“pencils often end up looking the same way. I pushed aside an armfall of the suits.”

And at the bottom of the wardrobe, found a stack of small boxes, jackpot. They were made of thin cardboard

and warmed my local historian heart as they were stamped with the names and addresses of their suppliers. One held dress socks and had been opened with a pair of missing. One held a shoe shine kit. That had clearly been well used and one was still an opened. A gold label taping the box of the handsome white handkerchiefs closed. There were a dozen of them, hemmed in different colors. I assumed to match different shirts or ties.

Fines like these helped us document where various shops had been. The cost of things, as they often still had a tag on them, or a handwritten receipt tucked inside. They were a glimpse into a simple interaction in the past. Here in the village. I purchased the socks and the shoe shine kit for the museum. We could stage them in one of the dressing rooms where we had other bits of clothing

and personal care objects to flesh out the picture of life at the time. But I used my own money to buy the handkerchiefs because as soon as I saw them, I thought of the adage about gifts at a wedding. But the couple needs something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. These could be there something old. So at home, I'd broken the seal that had been set in place decades before

and washed and dried them carefully. I'm not the best at embroidery,

Their first names, rather amateurish, but recognizable paw prints crawling across the fabric

“to represent their dogs and cat and the date of the wedding.”

And now I was ironing them so that, though they were old, they would feel crisp and fresh, just the thing to tuck into a pocket or purse,

to clean glasses or wipe away a tear. My smile as I fitted them back into their original box,

unwrapped it in shiny paper, tying it with an orange ribbon,

“thinking that some future local historian might find these handkerchiefs in a drawer or a cupboard”

like I had and try to match up the names and the date to learn a little bit about a special moment in the lives of our friends. Something old, I have to admit, I haven't used my iron in a long, long time. It took me a while to find it, in fact. It had been pushed all the way to the back of a shelf, over the washer, dryer, and I'd had to get a step stool out to bring it down.

“But I needed it. It was required in order for this to be done properly”

and that mattered to me. I'd spent a good bit of time trying to find the right thing after the invitation had come. We'd RSVPed right away. Yes, for both of us. And I'd circled the date on the calendar, the tongue inside the pantry, exciting, a wedding, and at the old inn, it would be beautiful, I was sure. I imagined the large porch that ran along the back of the house, lit with candles,

and string lights, the path down to the lake decorated with flowers,

and the great ballroom up on the second floor, filled with folks dancing and raising their

glasses to toast the couple. There would be favors on the giant cake and a pretty table for gifts and cards, a gift. What should it be? I wanted to give them something sentimental, rather than practical. Let someone else get them a new blender or fancy wine glasses. And I suppose that is part of who I am.

I spend a lot of my time taking care of old precious things. Things that are kept even though they are not at all practical.

It was once a private residence, but has for decades now been a sort of museum.

“It's rooms full of the restored and archived belongings of the family that lived there,”

as well as things from other villagers of the past.

There is a room on the third floor that is full of maps,

local and exotic. Hand drawn, or printed, on inky presses long ago. In the entryway, on a table under an impressive chandelier, is a meticulously built miniature of a sailing ship.

“With a tiny rudder and crows nest, and hand carved figurehead of a mermaid.”

There are rooms of books and portraits.

The old kitchens are full of patented copper pans, hanging from hooks, and clever cooking apparatuses. The newly renovated salarium houses rare tropical plants, and a collection of hanging prisms that throw rainbows against the floor and walls on sunny days. Then there are the grounds,

“gardens upon gardens, tended by a crowd of volunteers each year,”

and full of walking paths, that the public are welcome to and frequently use. There is a labyrinth that takes a good half-hour to walk, and a stretch of woods full of deer. And when I park my car in the lot there and step out and smell the air, and look up at the lovely old house.

I am regularly astonished that I get to work there. I'm only there a few days a week now. I spent most of my career teaching history at the college. And when I was ready to down shift a bit, I found a warm welcome at the great house.

I spend some time going through boxes and cataloging, some time teaching on the history of the house and the objects in it, and some time just scouting out new finds and the state sales and swap meets. That's where I'd found my wedding gift. I'd been deep in a wardrobe at a new state sale.

In an old Victorian house, that was being cleaned out completely for renovation. It was full of old suits and while I didn't have much interest in the clothes,

I always checked pockets for pens or little notebooks.

They have a lot to tell us about the quotidian moments of their owner's lives.

“I'd come away with a bare money clip with the initials carved into the tarnished silver.”

And a knob of a pencil with teeth marks in the wood. I chuckled as my own pencils often end up looking the same way. I pushed aside an armful of the suits. And at the bottom of the wardrobe, found the stack of small boxes. Jackpot.

They were made of thin cardboard and warmed my local historian heart.

As they were stamped with the names and addresses of their suppliers.

“One held dress socks and had been opened with one pair missing.”

One held a shoe shine kit that had clearly been well used. And one was still unopened. A gold label taping the box of the handsome white handkerchiefs closed.

There were a dozen of them, hemmed in different colors.

I assumed to match different shirts or ties. Finds like these helped us document where various shops had been. Cost of things as they often still had a tag attached. Or a handwritten receipt tucked inside.

“They were a glimpse into a simple interaction in the past.”

Here in the village. The socks and the shoe shine kit I purchased for the museum. We could stage them in one of the dressing rooms. Where we had other bits of clothing and personal care objects. To flesh out the picture of life at the time.

But I used my own money to buy the handkerchiefs. Because as soon as I saw them, I thought of the adage about gifts at a wedding. That the couple needs something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. These could be there something old. So at home, I'd broken the seal that had been set in place decades before.

And washed and dried them carefully. I'm not the best at embroidery, but I've gotten out my hoop and thread. And sewn something onto each one. Their first names. Rather amateurish, but recognizable paw prints.

Crawling across the fabric to represent their dogs and cat. And the date of the wedding. And now I was ironing them so that they were old. They would feel crisp and fresh, just the thing to tuck into a pocket for purse. The clean glasses or wipe away a tear.

My smile, as I fitted them back into their original box and wrapped it in shiny paper.

hangar chips in a drawer or cupboard like I had and try to match up the names and the date. To learn a little bit about a special moment when the lives of our friends. Sweet dreams.