W-A-L-K (Encore)

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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. What's 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. Make 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.”

Welcome to bedtime 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. For years now, we've met each other in the village through stories, and now for the

first time, the village is becoming a real place.

The nothing much happens, community app, is opening soon, with new ways to listen. Wine down practices, community projects, live events, and a cozy gathering place for villagers from around the world.

“Pre-registration is open now, founding members will receive exclusive launch pricing, and the”

first 50 people to pre-register will receive a limited edition weighted pillow. You can join the wait list at village.nothingmuch.com, or find the link in today's show notes. We can't wait to welcome you into the village of nothing much. Now, I have a story to tell you.

It is a way to gently unwind and guide your mind to some place soft and safe. Just by listening, you'll build a reliable response that will help you fall asleep faster, and return to sleep more easily, the more you use it. Most people report that it takes about a month of regular use to see the best results.

I'll tell the story twice, and I'll go a little slower, the second time through.

Our story tonight is called W-A-L-K, and it's a story about a little brown dog, and his favorite outdoor activity. It's also about the smell of watered lawns in the evening, a frisbee, and friends from down the block, porch lights, and water melon, and the moment when you close the door on the day.

So lights out campers, tuck yourself in, and let your whole body relax. You are about to fall asleep, and you will sleep deep, all night. Take a deep breath in through your nose, let it out your mouth. It's one more breath in, and out, good. W-A-L-K.

We just finished dinner. And I was still sitting at the table, on the back patio, leaning back in my chair, with my hand resting on my full belly. We'd had corn on the cob, bedgy burgers with all the thick things, and tiny potatoes

We had a watermelon, ripe and ready to cut, but I think both of us were too full to do

more than look at it right now. Our body, our gray-hound, was lying under the table, with his long flank resting on my foot. Often when we ate, he stretched out under the legs of our chairs, by now he'd drained us to be careful before we stood up.

“I think it was his gentle way of keeping track of us.”

He'd have a paw touching his dad's ankle, his hip touching mine.

When that way he knew, even as he slept, that we were close. From his smaller and scruffier brother was another story. He spent most of dinner jumping and fusing, trying to get our attention with each bite. Just in case, you know, we'd forgotten he was there, and we're interested in handing over a bit of the burger, a few of those crispy potatoes, or the last bite of the bun.

We didn't feed him from the table, or at least I didn't.

So I don't know where he could have learned such behavior. And tonight he was particularly revved up. We'd both had busy days, and he'd missed his morning walk. His dad was carrying plates into the house, and I could hear the sink filling up with water. As he came back for the last few dishes, he leaned close to my ear.

“And said, "I think he might want to go for a "don't say it," I whispered hurriedly.”

He cleared us throat. For a W-A-L-K. We both looked at crumb, who was watching us intently, his head tipped to one side. I don't think we were actually fooling him. He knew just from the words, "Go for a," that his favorite activity was being discussed.

We had various strategies for speaking about it in ways.

“We hoped wouldn't turn him into a lamp knocking over, screen door ripping, mom and dad”

tripping tornado. We sometimes called it his daily constitutional, or perambulation time, or simply a W. That he often cotton down to us, as he seemed to now. He'd sprung to his feet, and was sweeping his tail back and forth wildly behind him. His eyes were wide, and he kept switching his gaze from one to the other of us, waiting

to see who was going to get up and put their shoes on. "Okay, crumb will bury," I said, clapping my hands onto my thighs and standing up. "Well, go." I figured, "I may as well let him get excited out here, since there weren't any lamps to knock over."

I had to carefully wiggle my foot out from under birdy, and my new would much rather snooze the evening away than loped down the sidewalk with crumb and me.

orange fur pressed against the screen in our bedroom.

“She too was well into her post-dinner-napp.”

I turned to go in the house for shoes and the leash, when the screens lid back, and they were pushed into my hands. I chuckled, knowing this was as much a courtesy to me as it was a way to keep crumb out from under his feet while he did the dishes. This way we could go straight through the garden gate and out onto the street.

I guess he sure told us, didn't he crumb?

“I said, as I stepped into my shoes and clipped the leash in place.”

Crumb responded by turning and pulling me with all his force over to the gate. In a few moments later, we were out on the sidewalk, taking in the evening air together, and the air did smell good tonight. That sweet, summer freshness, a watered lawns, and flower gardens, as crumb sniffed through the grass.

I drew deep lung folds of it in, and sighed it out.

“Crumb and I had walked these streets so many times together.”

Years of early spring, ripe summer, and chilly fall trips around the neighborhood. I smiled to myself, as I watched his confident little trot. The tips of his ears bounced with each step, and the held is head high. I did the same.

Even when I thought I was too tired for a walk, usually within the first hundred steps,

I'd start to feel my mood rising, and tonight was no exception. We turned a corner, and spotted a familiar group coming our way. Crumb began to pull at the leash, excited to meet up with his friends. Over, a sweet golden retriever, who was just starting to show some gray on her face, and her little brother crimson, and I rushed that her pup, with beautiful red fur,

or striding toward us, with their two boys, crimson was growing so fast. He'd been closer to crumb size, the last time we'd seen him. But now he was almost as big as Clover, and his ears were long and droopy. He had a long nose as well, that he still looked to be growing into. When the dogs got close enough, they began to sniff, and droop into playbows, and bark.

After that down, panting slightly, while the younger pups circle each other. I noticed one of the boys had a frisbee in his hand, and I asked if they were heading to the park. The younger brother, who usually didn't talk much, seemed to have grown out of his

shyness, because he spoke right up to tell me that they were, but first, they were going

fridge.

“This smart plan, I said, "I'm let them go on their way."”

And I promised I'd bring him around to their yard, on Saturday for a playday.

We turned another corner, when I could start to feel crumb slowing down. The desperate energy he'd started with was melowing into a relaxed pace, and he paused to leisurely sniff more deeply. The porch light was on, when we climbed the front steps, and marmalade met us, mowing at the door.

“"I brought him back, Marmy," I said, as I uncliped his leash, and he used out of my shoes.”

From the kitchen I could hear the clink of dishes being put away, and the click of birdies

toenails on the tile, grumb raced off to lap at his water bowl, and I sighed when paused before closing the door, looking out on our quiet street, the lit windows of our neighbors, and the long shadows on the lawns. Good night, everyone. I thought. "W-A-L-K."

We'd just finished dinner.

I was still sitting at the table on the back patio, leaning back in my chair, with my hand resting on my full belly. We'd had corn on the cob, veggie burgers with all the fixings, and tiny potatoes, we'd cooked right on the grill, and tossed with herbs, and olive oil, and we had a watermelon,

“ripe and ready to cut, but I think both of us were too full to do more than look at it right now.”

Birdie, our gray-hound, was lying under the table, with his long flank resting on my foot, often when we ate. He stretched out under the legs of our chairs. By now, he trained us to be careful before we stood up. I think it was his gentle way of keeping track of us. He'd have a paw touching his dad's ankle,

his hip touching mine, and that way he knew, even as he slept, that we were close. From his smaller and scruffier brother, was another story. He spent most of dinner jumping and fussing, trying to get our attention with each bite. Just in case, you know, we'd forgotten he was there.

And we're interested in handing over a bit of the burger, a few of those crispy potatoes, or the last bite of the bun. We didn't feed him from the table, or, at least, I didn't.

And tonight, he was particularly revved up.

We'd both had busy days, and he'd missed his morning walk. His dad was carrying plates into the house. And I could hear the sink filling up with water. As he came back for the last few dishes, he leaned close to my ear and said,

“"I think he might want to go for a, don't say it. I whispered hurriedly."”

He cleared his throat for a W-A-L-K.

We both looked at Crum, who was watching us intently. His head dipped to one side. I don't think we were actually fooling him. He knew just from the words go for a that his favorite activity was being discussed.

We had various strategies for speaking about it, and ways we hoped

“wouldn't turn him into a lamp knocking over.”

Screen door ripping, mom and dad tripping tornado. Sometimes we call that his daily constitutional or perambulation time, or simply a W. But he often cut and dawned to us. As he seemed to now,

he'd sprung to his feet and was sweeping his tail back and forth wildly behind him.

“His eyes were wide, and he kept switching his gaze”

from one to the other of us, waiting to see who was going to get up and put their shoes on. Okay, Crumbleberry, I said, "Clapbing my hands onto my thighs and standing up, we will go."

I figured I may as well let him get excited out here since there weren't any lamps to knock over. I had to carefully wiggle one foot out from under birdie, who I knew would much rather snooze the evening away, then loop down the sidewalk with Crum and me.

I scanned the windows, looking for our cat, marmalade,

and finally noticed a bundle of orange fur

pressed against the screen in our bedroom. She, too, was well into her post dinner nap. I turned to go in the house for shoes and leash. When the screen slid back and they were pushed into my hands,

as it was a way to keep Crum out from under his feet while he did the dishes.

“This way we could go straight through the garden gate and out onto the street.”

My guess, he sure told us, didn't need Crum. I said, as I stepped into my shoes, I'm clipped the leash in place.

Crum responded by turning and pulling me with all his force over to the gate.

When a few moments later, we were out on the sidewalk, taking in the evening air together,

“and the air did smell good tonight. That sweet, summer freshness,”

of watered lawns, and flower gardens, as Crum sniffed through the grass, I drew deep lung folds of it in, and sighed it out. Crum and I had walked these streets so many times together, years of early spring, ripe summer, and chilly fall trips around the neighborhood, I smiled to myself, as I watched his confident little trot,

“the tips of his ears bounced with each step,”

and he held his head high, I did the same. Even when I thought we was too tired for a walk,

usually within the first 100 steps, I'd start to feel my mood rising.

Tonight was no exception. We turned a corner, and spotted a familiar group coming our way. Crum began to pull at the leash, excited to meet up with his friends. Clover, a sweet golden retriever, who was just starting to show some gray on her face, and her little brother Crimson, an Irish set her pup, with beautiful red fur,

we're striding toward us with their two boys. Crimson was growing so fast, he'd been closer to Crum's size, the last time we'd seen him. But now he was almost as big as Clover, and as years were long and droopy, he had a long nose as well, but he was still growing into. When the dogs got close enough, they began to sniff,

and drop into playbows, and bark. Clovers that down, panting slightly, while the younger pup circle each other. I noticed one of the boys had a frisbee in his hand, and I asked if they were heading to the park.

seemed to have grown out of his shyness,

“because he spoke right up to tell me they were,”

but first, they were going to their aunt's house,

to see if she wanted to go to, and also she has ice cream bars in her fridge. Smart plan, I said, and let them go on their way.

“Crum and Crimson had to be coaxed apart,”

and I promised I'd bring him around to their yard on Saturday for a play date,

we turned another corner, and I could start to feel crumb, slowing down. The desperate energy he'd started with was melowing into a relaxed pace,

“and he paused to leisurely sniff more deeply.”

The porch light was on, when we climbed the front steps,

and marmalade met us, mowing at the door. I brought him back, Marmy, I said, as I unclipped his leash, and he used out of my shoes. From the kitchen, I could hear the clink of dishes being put away, and the click of birdies toenails on the tile,

crumb raced off the lap that his waterball, and I sighed and paused before closing the door, looking out on our quiet street, the lit windows of our neighbors, and the long shadows on the lawns, good night, everyone, my thought, sweet dreams.