Window Weather

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Welcome to season 15

of Bedtime Stories for Everyone

in which

nothing much happens.

You feel good

and then

you fall asleep.

I'm Catherine Nikolai.

I read and write.

All the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens

with audio engineering by bob wittersheim

we give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to sesame workshop

mission driven child focused

helping children grow smarter stronger and kinder learn more in our show notes

I appreciate you listening to to this little bit of housekeeping at the beginning of our Eps.

If you sometimes find yourself

saying

along with me

with audio engineering by Bob Wittersheim,

well we made some merch for that.

And our little shop has some really great things in it these days.

You can color some scenes from the village,

snuggle up with our weighted pillow, and of course sign up for ad-free and bonus episodes through our premium feeds.

Learn more in our show notes

or at nothingmuchhappens.com.

Now

I have a story to tell you.

It is a place to rest your mind.

And as you listen,

you'll find yourself relaxing more and more.

The steady rhythm of my voice will guide you right to sleep.

This is a form of brain training.

So if you're new here,

give us a month or so of regular use

to achieve best results.

I'll tell the story twice

and I'll go a little slower the second time through.

If you wake later in the night,

if you feel the wheels in your mind

starting to turn,

just push play again.

You'll drop right back off.

Our story tonight

is called Window Weather.

And it's a story about the deep cold of midwinter

and the calm, cozy feeling of watching it from your window.

It's also about oranges and lemons, bells on collars, a well-stocked pantry and fridge,

and the joy of getting into your pajamas at three in the afternoon.

Now,

lights out campers.

Make yourself as snug and comfortable as you can.

Feel how good it is to be in bed,

to be at the end of your day.

Whatever today was

is

what today was.

and now we are here.

Draw a deep breath in through your nose

and sigh from your mouth

again in

and out.

Good

Window weather.

This first week of January

was just bitter cold.

The snow lay thick on the ground,

and long icicles hung from the eaves.

I'd had to go out

a few errands that couldn't be put off any longer.

And now as I wound my way back home,

I was so glad to know

I wouldn't have to leave again.

The afternoon light was dim.

We were still a few hours from sunset.

But it looked like it might happen at any minute.

A lot of houses were still strung with holiday lights.

And the gleam of them in the overcast atmosphere

felt like a beacon guiding me home.

It was always an odd

in-between feeling

at this time of year,

wanting a fresh start

but needing the comfort and coziness left over from the holidays to get through it

I found it best to take it in steps

one weekend I'd take down the tree

the next

I'd put away the Christmas village.

The outdoor lights I'd leave up until a very nice weekend rolled around,

say in March,

when it was a joy to be outside for a few hours

and let myself appreciate the process of untangling the strands

and boxing them up.

I circled past the skating rink in downtown

and saw that not a single soul was out on it to day.

It was just brutally cold,

and there was no amount of bundling

that could make it fun to play outside.

I turned past the park

where kids weren't making snowmen

and wound through the neighborhood to my house.

All along my street,

smoke rose from chimneys,

and I was glad to see so many of us

settled in for the day.

As I turned into my driveway

and waited for the garage door to lift,

snow began to fall.

Perfect timing.

It felt like it had held off

just for me.

I drove into my garage

and pushed the button,

letting it close behind me.

Does anyone else do this?

Wait for the garage to close

before you get out of the car.

It feels like

being closed in a decompression chamber,

a layer of safety

between me and the whole world.

It was silly.

A metaphor more than anything else.

But whenever I did it,

I found

I sighed

deeply

in my car.

I began to unpack the groceries from the trunk,

setting the bags at the top of the few steps

from the mudroom

into the kitchen

then slowly pulled off my boots and coat

hung up my scarf

and stuffed my gloves into the sleeve of my coat

another sigh

In the kitchen, I emptied the grocery sacks.

I love to fill my kitchen with citrus at this time of year,

and topped up a bowl on the counter with sumo oranges,

ruby red grapefruits,

and mire lemons.

The sharp, sweet scents clung to my fingers,

and I decided to start a simmer pot on the stove

to add their peels to.

Most days in the winter,

I kept a pot simmering

to soften the air.

Might add vanilla

or cardamom pods to it.

But one of my favorite additions

was orange

and lemon rinds.

When they simmered,

they released a soft floral scent,

sweet and homey.

As I stood at the sink,

filling the pot.

I looked out into the yard

and saw the snow was coming down thickly now.

This was what my mother called

window weather,

as in excellent weather to enjoy from inside your cozy house,

to be watched from the window.

I set the pot on the stove

and lit the burner

and went back to sorting the groceries.

I had a big sack of potatoes for the shepherd's pie I meant to make later.

Carrots and peas,

onions and brown lentils.

Might also bought a big cabbage to roast in the oven.

Boxes of crackers and containers of olives.

Canned chickpeas and beans.

Hearty

stick-to-your-rib stuff

that would see me through these frigid days.

There were oats for porridge,

arboreo and jasmine rice,

ramen and pastina,

and packages of broth.

I'd bought coffee beans,

and a few boxes of tea,

cinnamon sticks, of which I added a few few to the simmer pot,

and a packet of lemon drop candies.

From the bakery,

I had a loaf of sandwich bread,

a thick slice of focaccia,

a half dozen oatmeal cookies,

and an almond croissant for breakfast tomorrow.

I'd also stopped at the bookshop before it closed for their annual vacation

and picked up the new book for my book club.

It was a thriller

that I'd heard from more than one friend was impossible to put down

and and easy to read all in one day.

I heard a tinkling bell and then another

and saw two of my three cats wandering into the kitchen

to check out the purchases.

There was a stack of canned food for them,

a bag of their kibble,

and a fresh scratching post they could fight over.

I set it on the floor in the corner of the dining room

and let them dig in.

I love dogs too, very much, but

had to admit that in these frigid days

I was glad that none of us needed to be walked or let outside.

They were brothers, my cats,

all three of them,

and had showed up at a shelter

when they were just kittens.

All they'd had were each other.

And though it was a big step to go from zero cats to three,

I decided I could handle it.

They hadn't even had names.

And when they first came home,

stepped out of their carrier

and started to explore.

I found them drawn to the bowl of stones on my entryway table.

I was a hobbyist beach comer in the summertime,

and had found lots of pretty rocks,

even had a tumbler to polish them up.

The brothers had nosed through my collection,

and so I had named them

Dolomite,

Feldspar,

and Steve.

Listen, it makes sense if you know them.

Steve meowed from the post, clearly enjoying his new piece of furniture.

And I smiled at them

as I finished putting everything away.

Steam steam was rising from the pot on the stove,

and I could smell the cinnamon I'd dropped in.

I turned on the light over the range

and turned off the overhead

and sighed again.

My home was in order.

We were stocked up and ready to stay put for a bit.

On the stairs, as I headed up to change,

out of my jeans and sweater and into my PJs,

it was nearly three o'clock after all.

I passed Dolomite.

He was my shy boy,

and I stopped to give him a few pets.

He had heard his brothers playing downstairs,

and had finally decided to creep down

and join the fun.

He slunk past me,

and I kept climbing.

From my bedroom window,

I looked up and down the street,

seeing

lit windows,

the flicker of fires going.

In another few weeks, this cold spell would move on.

The sun would last a bit longer each day.

But for now,

We'd enjoy the world inside

and watch the snow fall from our windows.

Window weather

This first week of January

was just

bitter cold

The snow lay thick on the ground

and long icicles

hung from the eaves.

I'd had to go out

a few errands that

couldn't be put off

any longer.

And now,

as I wound my way back home,

I was glad to know

I wouldn't have to leave again.

The afternoon light was dim.

We were still a few hours from sunset.

But it looked like it might happen

at any minute.

A lot of houses

were still strung with holiday lights,

and the gleam of them

in the overcast atmosphere

felt like a beacon

guiding me home.

It's always an odd

in-between feeling

at this time of year,

wanting a fresh start,

but

needing the comfort and coziness left over from the holidays

to get through to it.

I found it best

to take it in steps.

One weekend, I'd take down the tree.

The next

put away the Christmas village.

The lights I'd leave up

until a very nice weekend rolled around.

Say in March,

when it was a joy to be outside for a few hours.

And I'd let myself

appreciate the process

of untangling the strands

and boxing them up.

I circled past the skating rink

and downtown

and saw that not a single soul was out on it today.

It was just brutally cold,

and there was no amount of bundling

that could make it fun

to play outside.

I turned past the park

where kids weren't making snowmen

and wound through the neighborhood to my house

all along my street

smoke rose from chimneys

And I was glad to see

so many of us

settled in for the day

as I turned into my driveway

and waited for the garage door to lift.

Snow began to fall.

Perfect timing.

It felt like it had held off

just for me.

I drove into my garage

and pushed the button,

letting it close behind me.

Does anyone else do this?

Wait for the garage to close

before you get out of the car

it feels like

being closed in a decompression chamber

a layer of safety

between

me

and the whole world

It was silly.

a metaphor

more than anything else.

But whenever I did it,

I found

I sighed

deeply

in the car.

I began to unpack the groceries from the trunk,

setting the bags at the top of the few steps

from the mudroom into the kitchen.

Then slowly pulled off my boots and coat,

hung up my scarf,

and stuffed my gloves

into the sleeve of my coat.

Another

sigh.

In the kitchen, I emptied the grocery sacks.

I love to fill my kitchen with citrus

at this time of year

and topped up a bowl on the counter

with sumo oranges,

ruby red grapefruits,

and Meyer lemons.

The sharp, sweet scents

clung to my fingers,

and I decided to start a simmer pot

on the stove

to add their peels to.

Most days

in the winter,

I kept a pot simmering to soften the air.

My dad,

vanilla,

or cardamom pods to it.

But one of my favorite additions

was orange

and lemon rinds.

When they simmered,

they released a soft floral scent,

sweet and homey.

As I stood at the sink

filling the pot,

I looked out into the yard

and saw the snow was coming down thickly now.

This was what my mother called

window weather,

as in

excellent weather

to enjoy from

inside your cozy house

to be watched from the window.

I set the pot on the stove

and lit the burner

and went back to sorting groceries.

I had a big sack of potatoes

for the shepherd's pie

I meant to make later

Carrots and peas,

onions and brown lentils.

I'd also bought a big cabbage to roast in the oven,

boxes of crackers

and containers of olives,

canned chickpeas and beans,

hearty,

stick-to-your-ribs stuff

That would see me through these frigid days.

There were oats for porridge,

arborio and jasmine rice,

ramen and pastina,

and packages of broth.

I'd bought coffee beans

and a few boxes of tea,

cinnamon sticks,

of which

I added a few to the simmer pot

and

a packet of lemon drop candies

From the bakery I had a loaf of sandwich bread,

a thick slice of focaccia,

a half dozen oatmeal cookies,

and an almond croissant

for breakfast to morrow.

I'd also stopped at the bookshop

before it closed

for their annual vacation

and I'd picked up the new book

for my book club

It was a thriller that I'd heard from more than one friend

was impossible to put down

and easy to read all in one day.

I heard a tinkling bell

and then another

and saw two of my three cats

wandering into the kitchen

to inspect the purchases.

There was a stack of canned food for them,

a bag of their kibble,

and a fresh scratching post

they could fight over.

I set it on the floor

in the corner of the dining room

and let them dig in.

I love dogs, too,

very much, but

had to admit that

in these frigid days,

I was glad that none of us needed to be walked

or let outside.

They were brothers, my cats,

all three of them,

and had showed up at the shelter

when they were just kittens.

All they'd had were each other.

And though it was a very big step

to go from zero cats to three,

I decided I could handle it.

They hadn't even had names.

And when they first came home,

stepped out of their carrier

and started to explore.

I found them drawn to the bowl of stones

on my entryway table.

I was a hobbyist beach comer

in the summertime

and had found lots of pretty rocks,

even had a tumbler to polish them up.

The brothers had nosed through my collection,

and so I had named them

Dolomite,

Feldspar,

and Steve.

Listen, it makes sense if you know them.

Steve meowed from the post,

clearly enjoying his new piece of furniture.

And I smiled at them as I finished putting everything away.

Steam was rising from the pot on the stove,

and I could smell the cinnamon I'd dropped in.

I turned on the light over the range

and turned off the overhead

and sighed

again.

My home was in order.

We were stocked up

and ready to stay put for a bit.

On the stairs, as I headed up to change,

out of my jeans and sweater

and into my PJs.

It was nearly three o'clock, after all.

I passed Dolomite.

He was my shy boy,

and I stopped to give him a few pets.

He had heard his brothers playing downstairs,

and had finally decided to creep down and join the fun.

He slunk past me,

and I kept climbing.

From my bedroom window

I looked up and down the street

seeing lit windows

the flicker of fires going

in another few weeks this cold spell would move on

the sun would last a bit longer each day.

But for now,

we'd enjoy the world inside

and watch the snowfall

from our windows.

Sweet dreams.