Magic Words (Encore)

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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 Wittersheim.

We are bringing you an encore 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 rest and sweet dreams.

Now,

sleep should be easy.

I can help.

I'm going to tell you a simple, low-stake story,

full of relaxing details.

All you have to do is listen.

Rest your mind on the sound of my voice.

And it will work like a lullaby.

Before you know it, you'll be waking up tomorrow feeling rested.

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

If you wake in the night

you could turn the story right back on

or just think through any of the details you can remember.

Now

it's time to turn out the light

and set down your stuff.

Maybe this is a moment you've been waiting for all day

to slide down into your sheets

and know that nothing more is needed from you.

It's okay to

just rest now.

Take a slow breath in

and sigh

again in through the nose,

out through your mouth.

Good.

Our story tonight is called Magic Words.

And it's a story about a trip into town on a summer morning.

It's also about the scent of fresh-cut lumber,

a dog biscuit buried in the flower beds.

How a moment at the start of your day can alter your path

and something in a shop window that catches your eye.

Magic words

The morning started early this time of year.

And I found myself waking most days

just after the sun was up,

listening to the birds outside my window,

and smelling the fresh summer air.

This morning I caught the scent of last night's rainstorm.

It had blown over,

and the day would likely be sunny and clear.

But the rain-soaked scent lingered and smelled so good.

I thought of the clover growing around my front steps,

the cosmos in their window boxes,

and the black locust tree in my yard,

all

drinking deep

and feeling refreshed.

Just as I sat up in bed, began to stretch and blink at the morning light,

I remembered what day it was.

It was the first of the month.

And I smiled and spoke my magic words aloud.

Rabbit, rabbit.

Maybe you have heard of this superstition.

Just a silly tradition that some people follow, including me,

for those words to be the first thing out of your mouth on the morning of a new month.

It was supposed to bring luck

and prosperity.

And whether or not it did,

it always made me smile,

which is its own kind of good fortune and wealth.

My

rabbit, rabbit habit

had started me thinking

about my first words most days,

not just once a month.

I found it was a way to lay a path for me to walk on

the rest of the day,

just by organizing my thoughts

and speaking a word or two.

When I first woke up,

I'd close my eyes

and open a little question mark space inside myself.

What needed my attention today?

What direction should I lean in?

Usually, within a second or two,

some thought would edge to the front and raise its hand,

and I would speak its name out loud,

saying

kindness,

patience,

fun,

balance, whatever it was.

Then, through the day,

when I needed a nudge, I'd find it,

having been planted already in my head and heart.

So they were my magic words.

Rabbit, rabbit being the less serious cousin of those daily mantras.

It seemed like a good day

to be a little less serious, too.

From the window, I could see the puddles puddles drying on the sidewalk

and the sun coming out bright and warm.

A good morning to walk into town

and treat myself to breakfast and a cup of coffee.

Within a few minutes, I was stepping out of the house,

pulling the door shut behind me

and tromping across the damp lawn in my sandals.

For a moment, I thought I might be chilled in my t-shirt.

But as soon as I stepped out from under the shade of the locust tree

and felt the sun on my skin,

I was warmed through.

I crossed the street and found a pace that woke me up.

I love a walk in the morning.

And I knew that being out in the sun at this part of the day

would help my internal clock stay regulated,

would help to give me a better night's sleep tonight.

I turned at the corner and passed a yard edged with a newly built fence.

The fresh cut wood smelled so good

in the morning air.

I slowed to breathe it in

and to spy through the slats.

This neighbor had a little brown dog

that I'd met before on my walks.

And lately, he'd had a friend,

a big greyhound, out in the yard with him.

Funnily, I knew both their names, but had no idea what their humans were called,

though we'd met more than once.

Sure enough, when I peeked through the fence,

I could see Crum,

the little one, digging a hole I was fairly sure he was not supposed to be digging beside the patio

while Birdie the greyhound

lay in a patch of sunlight clearly well into his first nap of the morning.

I chuckled under my breath at them,

and Crum caught me looking.

He had a biscuit in his mouth,

which he was just about to drop into the hole he'd dug.

But now that I'd seen his hiding place, he huffed and trotted around the edge of the house to dig another.

Oh dear,

that second hole would be my fault.

I walked on.

I passed the corner store

and saw that their front window was full of beach umbrellas,

little buckets with matching shovels,

and even a few pool floats blown up and ready to launch.

I appreciated

how little rhyme or reason this store had to its inventory.

inventory.

You could buy alfalfa sprouts, fireplace matches,

little squares of homemade salted caramel,

a lotto ticket, and a rainbow inner tube, all in one spot,

about a twentieth of the size of the big grocery store outside of town.

Maybe I'd stop on my way home and see what silly selections I could make.

Just as I turned back to the sidewalk,

I spotted something pale moving through the yard of the house opposite.

And as my eyes focused,

I realized what it was:

a rabbit.

A real rabbit

that had stopped in place as I walked closer

and seemed unconcerned with me

it was munching on a hosta leaf

small cheeks moving at a clip

I stood and just watched for a bit

I wondered if I had called her here today

with my magic words,

or if somehow she had called me.

Finally, I walked on,

leaving her to her breakfast

and thinking of my own.

I had options, and they were all good ones.

There was the diner with its vinyl booths and those spinny stools along the counter.

They served excellent sweet potato hash,

as well as very good biscuits and gravy.

Their coffee was reliable, if a bit basic.

And the people watching was top tier.

Then there was the bakery, their front walk full of tables and umbrellas.

They had fancy lattes and every kind of pastry or bagel that I could want.

Oh, and the farmer's market was also open this morning.

And they had a waffle truck.

Come on, that sounds pretty great.

Waffles amid the bustling fruit and vegetable stalls.

I was at a literal crossroads,

trying to decide which way to turn

to follow the true desire of my taste buds

when I looked over my shoulder and spotted in the window of the tea shop

a small porcelain rabbit.

I stepped closer and saw the tiny cracks in her glaze,

the delicate pink of her nose,

and thought

it had been a while

since I'd had a cup of their matcha to start my day.

I loved their homemade granola and almond milk,

and thought that my magic words hadn't yet led me astray.

So I may as well follow them a bit longer.

Magic words.

The mornings started early

this time of year,

and I found myself waking most days

just after the sun was up,

listening to the birds outside my window

and smelling the fresh summer air.

This morning I caught the scent of last night's rainstorm.

It had blown over,

and the day would likely be sunny and clear.

But that rain-soaked scent lingered

and smelled so good.

I thought of the clover growing around my front steps,

the cosmos in their window boxes,

and the black locust tree in my yard,

all drinking deep

and feeling refreshed.

Just as I sat up in bed

and began to stretch and blink at the morning light,

I remembered what day it was.

It was the first of the month

And I smiled and spoke my magic words aloud

Rabbit, rabbit

Maybe you have heard of this superstition

just a silly tradition that some people, including me, follow

For those words to be the first thing out of your mouth

on the morning of a new month,

it was supposed to bring luck and prosperity.

And whether or not it did,

it always made me smile.

Which is its own kind of good fortune and wealth.

My

rabbit-rabbit habit

had started me thinking about my first words most days,

not just once a month.

I found it was a way to

lay a path for me to walk on

the rest of the day,

just by organizing my thoughts

and speaking a word or two.

When I first woke up,

I close my eyes

and open up a little question mark space inside myself.

What needed my attention today?

What direction

should I lean in?

Usually

within a second or two,

some thought would

edge to the front

and raise its hand

and I would speak its name out loud,

saying

kindness,

patience,

fun,

balance, whatever it was.

Then through the day,

when I needed a nudge, I'd find it,

having already been planted in my head and heart.

So they were my magic words.

Rabbit, rabbit, being

the less serious cousin

of those daily mantras.

It seemed like a good day to be a little less serious, too.

From the window, I could see the puddles drying on the sidewalk,

and the sun coming out, bright and warm.

A good morning to walk into town

and treat myself to breakfast and a cup of coffee.

Within a few minutes, I was stepping out of the house,

pulling the door shut behind me,

and tromping across the damp lawn in my sandals.

For a moment, I thought I might be chilled in my t-shirt.

But as soon as I stepped out from under the shade of the locust tree,

I felt the sun on my skin

was warmed through.

I crossed the street and found a pace that woke me up.

I love a walk in the morning.

And I knew that being out in the sun at this part of the day

would help my internal clock stay regulated,

would help to give me a better night's sleep tonight.

I turned at the corner

and passed a yard edged with a newly built fence.

The fresh-cut wood smelled so good in the morning air.

I slowed to breathe it in

and to spy through the slats.

This neighbor had a little brown dog that I'd met before on my walks,

and lately he'd had a friend,

a big greyhound, out in the yard with him.

Funnily, I knew both their names,

but had no idea what their humans were called,

though we'd met more than once.

Sure enough, when I peeked through the fence, I could see Crumb, the little one,

digging a hole I was...

fairly sure

he was not supposed to be digging beside the patio,

while Birdie the Greyhound lay in a patch of sunlight,

clearly well into his first nap of the morning.

I chuckled under my breath at them,

and Crumb caught me looking.

He had a biscuit in his mouth, which

he was just about to drop into the hole

But now that I'd seen his hiding place

He huffed and trotted around the edge of the house to dig another

oh dear

That second hole would be my fault

I walked on

I passed the corner store

and saw that their front window was full of beach umbrellas,

little buckets with matching shovels,

and even a few pool floats

blown up and ready to launch.

I appreciated how little rhyme or reason this store had to its inventory.

You could buy

alfalfa sprouts,

fireplace matches,

little squares of homemade salted caramel,

a lotto ticket, and a rainbow inner tube,

all in one spot,

about a twentieth the size of the big grocery store outside of town.

Maybe I'd stop on my way home and see what silly selections I could make.

Just as I turned back to the sidewalk,

I spotted something pale

moving through the yard of the house opposite.

And as my eyes focused,

I realized what it was

a rabbit.

A real

rabbit.

It stopped in place as I walked closer,

but seemed unconcerned with me.

It was munching on a hostile leaf,

small cheeks moving at a clip.

I stood and just watched it for a bit.

I wondered if I had called her here today

with my magic words.

Or if

somehow

she had called me.

Finally, I walked on,

leaving her to her breakfast and thinking of my own.

I had options,

and they they were all good ones.

There was the diner

with its vinyl booths,

and those spinny stools along the counter.

They served excellent sweet potato hash,

as well as very good biscuits and gravy.

Their coffee was reliable, if a bit basic,

and the people watching was top-tier.

Then there was the bakery.

Their front walk was full of tables and umbrellas.

And they had fancy lattes and every kind of pastry

or bagel that I could want.

Oh, and the farmer's market was also open this morning, and they had a waffle truck.

Come on, that sounds pretty great.

Waffles amid the bustling fruit and vegetable stalls.

I was at a literal crossroads,

trying to decide which way to turn

to follow the true desire of my taste buds

when I looked over my shoulder

and spotted

in the window of the tea shop

a small porcelain rabbit.

I stepped closer and saw the tiny cracks in her glaze,

the delicate pink of her nose,

and thought that it had been a while

since I'd had a cup of matcha

to start my day.

I loved their homemade granola

and almond milk

and thought

my magic words hadn't yet led me astray,

so I may as well

follow them a bit longer.

Sweet dreams.