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“Do you ever feel like you're trying to eat healthy, but the rules keep changing?”
One minute, it's low fat, and the next it's low carb, and so how you're still overwhelmed? Be well by Kelly, is here to simplify the science of nutrition. Every week, Kelly breaks down what actually matters, so you can make choices and not cheats. It's about balance, long-term health, and building a positive relationship with food that lasts.
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Welcome. 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 Wittersheim. Before we begin, one quick note. We're just one week away from launching the nothing much happens app, and I couldn't be more excited. It's a cozy little corner of the world, where you'll find our complete library of stories and meditations, my yoga classes, creative courses, live events, delightful surprises, and a warm community already thousands strong, built
around rest, creativity, and kindness. If you joined before launch, you'll save 20% off with our founders pricing. We'd love to welcome you to the village, visit nothing much happens.com to learn more. Now, busy minds need a place to rest, and a way to become less busy.
“That's what I have for you. A soft, positive technique.”
For settling your thoughts and sending you to sleep. As this is a form of brain training, come with some patience if you are new to it. And know that the response will become stronger over time. All you need to do is listen.
I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower the second time through.
If you wake later in the night, don't hesitate to restart the episode. Our story tonight is called the evening of the fourth, and it's a story about a day-long event that ends with a picnic and a concert on the grass. It's also about handpies on potato salad, a busy kitchen full of apron volunteers, the sound of instruments tuning up on the patio, time and lemon zest, and the satisfaction of sharing good times with your neighbors.
Now, lights out y'all, let it sink in, that the day is over, that it was what it was and now we are here. Nothing left to do or keep track of. Nothing needed from you. You have done enough. Take a deep breath in through your nose, let it out your mouth, nice, one more, breathe in, and out, good. The evening of the fourth, from inside the kitchen, I could hear the band tuning up.
Our small but beloved village orchestra, a scrappy group of all ages musicians, with just enough instruments to qualify, was set up on the stone patio. I could hear the cello's voice as it fell into tune beside the French horn and clarinet.
I leaned closer to the window,
inching it open a bit more, and heard the occasional scratch of a chair leg sliding over the stone.
“A music stand pulled closer, and the murmur of voices as they prepared to play.”
The day had taken quite a bit of planning, but everything seemed to be falling into place. We were here at the village museum, this great old house, with acres of lawns and gardens and a reflecting pond full of coi. All of which were now being toured and enjoyed
by what seemed to be nearly everyone of the village residents.
There had been an arts and crafts fair earlier in the day.
“With booths and stands set up in the carriage house.”
There was face painting for the kids and some of us adults. I myself had a few butterflies fluttering across my cheek and lemonade and snacks
around nearly every corner. The day had been well attended, but the crowd grew even bigger
for this evening's concert on the lawn and picnic. Mine been here since the morning, baking and helping with the kitchen duties.
“And what fun it was to work on this grand old house's restored kitchens.”
There was a huge open-heart, beautiful but unlit in today's heat. Spacious marble-topped counters to work on, gleaming copper pans hanging from hooks, and open shelves with beautiful ceramic mixing bowls and porcelain platters and bakers dream. The kitchen was turning out a lot of food today. Cookies and hand pies for the snack tables but also entire packed picnic baskets for tonight's dinner.
My partner in dining was my good friend chef who was usually cooking up magical meals at the end on the lake. We'd worked together a few summers back on a wedding and ever since then. We'd been finding new culinary adventures to Sharon. They oversaw the savouries. I super intended the sweets and baked goods. And we'd each brought a few volunteers to help.
The in-keeper herself had been assigned about a hundred pounds of potatoes to peel for chef's potato salad and had been a very good sport about it. I'd supplied her with a couple of lemon tarts to keep her strength up. We'd made chickpea salad sandwiches and soft jibada topped with dressed arugula and toasted sesame seeds. Along with the potato salad which was the traditional type with pickles and onion.
There was pasta salad full of ripe cherry tomatoes and basil and an herbie olive oil dressing. I'd made a new recipe corn muffins flavored with lemon zest and thyme
They were just a tad sweet and went perfectly with the rest of the meal.
They could even serve as dessert when spread with the whipped maple cream I packed into jam jars.
“Coolers outside were stocked with ice cream bars we'd made ahead.”
Coconut and raspberry swirled together and dipped in dark chocolate to send everyone home with a sweet taste in their mouths. There had been moments when we'd scrambled.
There always are in a kitchen during a big event.
But the mood had stayed sunny even when we were all working like mad. Now as the band began to play, I chewed the others out to enjoy themselves to eat and share in the entertainment. I wiped down the stretch of marble and rinsed my cloth under the tap.
“We'd have a good bit of cleaning still to do,”
but had all agreed to come back tomorrow to button everything up.
My hung the cloth on a hook and dimmed the lights.
Noticing the colors of the sunset through the tall windows. I didn't take my apron off, not yet. I just needed to go out onto the lawn and see for myself that folks were enjoying their meals. No one needed anything further that we hadn't forgotten anything.
The halls of the great house were quiet and dim.
“They held the energy of the moment after the business.”
The low between preparation and cleanup.
It felt soft and cool. I passed the salarium. The twinkle lights glowing among the leafy trees and bright petal flowers. Through open French doors from the drawing room. I stepped out onto the patio.
I stood for a moment. My hands on my hips. Scanning across the sloping lawn to take in the clumps of visitors. Sitting on blankets or benches. Chewing slowly as they listen to the music.
I recognized the composition. It was an original, composed by the band teacher at the high school for a parade a few years back. It had since become a sort of village theme. It was played on the organ at baseball games. I'd heard it over the speakers at the finish line of the village five K.
And a jangly version of it could be heard emitting from ice cream trucks as they slowly rolled through town streets. I couldn't help the beaming proud smile that spread over my face. I was proud of this day and the event we'd worked so hard to put on. And I was proud to be part of this little village that played so well together.
I started to stride through the crowd, bending down to say hello to friends and bakery customers that I recognized. I checked to see what people thought of the muffins. Of the Chibata bread, the hand pies and tarts. I took compliments, even the ones meant for chef, graciously.
Nodding my acknowledgement with the cheeky smile.
I saw an arm waving at me from a blanket on the edge of the yard.
“An ambled over to find chef unpacking a very full basket.”
Come on, they said, "Bamly meal." I chuckled. Yes, it was our turn to eat.
I finally untied my apron and lifted it off my neck.
We kicked off my shoes and settled down on the blanket beside them. They fixed me a plate and handed it over.
“And we found paper cups to fill with lemonade and toast each other.”
The food was delicious. The air was cool and full of sweet music. And the stars were just beginning to shine.
The evening of the fourth.
From inside the kitchens, I could hear the band tuning up. Our small, but beloved village orchestra, a scrappy group of all-age musicians with just enough instruments to qualify. We set up on the stone patio.
“I could hear the cello's voice as it fell into tune beside the French horn and clarinet.”
I leaned closer to the window,
venting it open a bit more. And heard the occasional scratch of a chair leg sliding over the stone. A music stand pulled closer and the murmur of voices as they prepared to play. The day had taken quite a bit of planning, but everything seemed to be falling into place. We were at the village museum, a great old house,
with acres of lawns and gardens, and the reflecting pond full of joy. All of which were now being toured and enjoyed by what seemed to be nearly everyone of the village residents. There had been an arts and crafts fair earlier in the day, with booths and stands set up in the carriage house.
There was vase painting for the kids, and some of us adults. I myself had a few butterflies fluttering across my cheek, and lemonade and snacks around nearly every corner. The day had been well attended, but the crowd grew even bigger for the evening's concert on the lawn and picnic.
I'd been here since the morning, baking and helping with the kitchen duties. I'm what fun it was to work in this grand old houses restored kitchens.
There was a huge open-heart, beautiful, but unlit, and today's heat.
Spacious, marble-topped counters to work on, gleaming copper pans, hanging from hooks,
“and open shelves, with beautiful ceramic mixing bowls, and porcelain platters,”
a baker's dream. The kitchen was turning out a lot of food today. Cookies and hand pies for the snack tables, but also entire packed picnic baskets
for tonight's dinner. My partner in dying, was my good friend, chef.
We usually was cooking up magical meals at the end of the lake.
“We'd worked together a few summers back on a wedding,”
and ever since then, we'd been finding new culinary adventures to share it. They oversaw the savories. I super intended the sweets and baked goods, and we'd each brought a few volunteers to help. The in-keeper herself had been assigned about a hundred pounds of potatoes to peel for chefs, potato salad,
“and had been a very good sport about it.”
I'd supplied her with a couple of lemon tarts to keep her strength up. We'd made chickpea salad sandwiches, unsoft, chiebada, topped with drestarugula, and toasted sesame seeds, along with the potato salad, which was the traditional type with pickles and onion. There was pasta salad, full of ripe cherry tomatoes, and basil,
and a urbe olive oil dressing. I'd made a new recipe, corn muffins, flavored with lemon zest, and thyme. They were just a tad sweet, and went perfectly with the rest of the meal. I could even serve as dessert. One spread with the whipped maple cream. I'd packed into small jam jars.
Coolers outside were stopped with ice cream bars that we'd made ahead, coconut, and raspberry, swirled together, and dipped in dark chocolate to send everyone home with a sweet taste in their mouths. There had been moments when we'd scrambled.
There always are, in kitchens, during a big event.
But the mood had stayed sunny, even when we were all working like mad.
Now, as the band began to play, I shoot the others out to enjoy themselves,
to eat, and share in the entertainment.
“I wiped down a stretch of marble, and rinsed my cloth under the tap.”
We'd have a good bit of cleaning to do, but had all agreed to come back tomorrow to button everything up. My hung the cloth on a hook and dimmed the lights, noticing the colors of the sunset through the tall windows.
I didn't take my print off, not yet.
I just needed to go out onto the lawn.
“And see for myself that folks were enjoying their meals.”
But no one needed anything further. That we hadn't forgotten anything. The halls of the great house were quiet and dim.
They held the energy of the moment after the business.
The low between preparation and cleanup. It felt soft and cool.
“I passed the salarium between the lights, blowing among milky trees,”
and bright pettled flowers. Through open French doors from the drawing room, I stepped out onto the patio. My stood for a moment, my hands on my hips, scanning across the sloping lawn,
to take in the clumps of visitors, sitting on blankets, or benches, chewing slowly as they listened to the music. I recognized the composition. It was an original composed by the band teacher at the high school,
for a parade a few years back. It had since become a sort of village theme. It was played on the organ at baseball games. I'd heard it over the speakers at the finish line of the village 5k. And a jangly version of it could be heard emitting from ice cream trucks.
As they slowly rolled through town, I couldn't help the beaming proud smile that spread over my face. I was proud of this day when the event that we'd worked so hard to put on. And I was proud to be part of this little village that played so well together. I started to stride through the crowd, bending down to say hello,
to friends and bakery customers that I recognized.
I checked to see what people thought of the muffins,
of the Chibada bread, the handpies and tarts.
“I took compliments, even the ones meant for chef graciously nodding my acknowledgement”
with a cheeky smile.
I saw an arm waving from a blanket on the edge of the yard,
“an ampled over to find chef, unpacking a very full basket.”
Come on, they said, family meal.
I chuckled. Yes, it was our turn to eat.
“I finally untied my apron and lifted it off my neck.”
I kicked off my shoes and settled down beside them. They fixed me a plate and handed it over. And we found paper cups to fill with lemonade and toast each other. The food was delicious. The air was cool and full of sweet music. And the stars were just beginning to shine.
Sweet dreams.
