Pool Day

Get more, nothing much happens with bonus episodes, extra long stories, and ad-free listening, all while supporting the show you love.

Subscribe now.

Chronic migraine is 15 or more headache days a month, each lasting four hours or more.

Botox, onobotulinum toxin A, prevents headaches in adults with chronic migraine before they start.

It's not for those with 14 or fewer headache days a month.

It prevents on average eight to nine headache days a month versus six to seven for placebo.

Prescription Botox is injected by your doctor.

Effects of Botox may spread hours to weeks after injection, causing serious symptoms.

Alert your doctor right away, as difficulty swallowing, speaking, breathing, eye problems, or muscle weakness can be signs of a life-threatening condition.

Patients with these conditions before injection are at highest risk.

Side effects may include allergic reactions, neck, and injection, side pain, fatigue, and headache.

Allergic reactions can include rash, welts, asthma symptoms, and dizziness.

Don't receive Botox if there's a skin infection.

Tell your doctor your medical history, muscle or nerve conditions, including ALS Lou Gehrig's disease, myasthenia gravis or Lambert Eaton syndrome, and medications including botulinum toxins as these may increase the risk of serious side effects.

Why wait?

Ask your doctor, visit BotoxPronicMigraine.com or call 1-800-44-Botox to learn more.

This episode is brought to you by Progressive Insurance.

Fiscally responsible, financial geniuses, monetary magicians.

These are things people say about drivers who switch their car insurance to Progressive and save hundreds.

Visit Progressive.com to see if you could save.

Progressive Casualty Insurance Company and affiliates.

Potential savings will vary, not available in all states or situations.

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone

in which

nothing much happens.

You feel good.

And then you fall asleep.

I'm Catherine Nikolai.

I create everything you hear on Nothing Much Happens.

Audio Engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.

We give to a different charity each week and this week we are giving to Footprint Project.

Their work is to provide cleaner energy for communities in crisis.

You can learn more about them in our show notes.

Hey, did you know we recently made an episode of our daytime podcast, Stories from the Village of Nothing Much,

that featured listeners' voices?

They played parts like Marmalade's Mom,

Crumb's Dad, the Cool Aunt, and her nephew.

Wish you could have played along?

Well, give us a follow over on Instagram.

We have more community projects in the works, and we want to include you.

And as always,

please consider becoming a premium subscriber.

A dime a day,

so many benefits.

Everything's in our notes at nothingmuchhappens.com.

Okay,

so here's how this works.

And we know it works after nearly 200 million downloads.

We've figured out how to do this.

Just by listening to the story I have for you,

you'll shift your brain activity away from the constantly spiraling default mode

and into the sleep-accessible task-positive mode.

You don't need to understand any of that for it to work.

Just relax and listen.

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

If you wake again in the night, don't hesitate to turn another story on.

It'll help you go right back to sleep.

Our story tonight is called Pool Day.

And it's a story about a cool dip in the water on a hot summer day.

It's also about the tiled walls of the changing rooms, broad open umbrellas and rows of lounge chairs, a book by your side, droplets on your skin, and the heavy sleep that swallows you up after a day in the sun and water.

It's time.

The day is

And you have done all that you needed to.

You are right now

just where you are supposed to be.

So let go.

It's okay.

Let go.

I'll take the next watch.

Draw a deep breath in through your nose

and sigh from your mouth.

Nice.

Again, breathe in.

Let it out with sound.

Good.

Pool day.

It was the place to be to day

on a hot, late summer day,

one with a cloudless sky and almost too much sun

the village pool

was calling my name

I walked up the path to the gate

my beach bag slung over my shoulders

and my flip-flops

slapping against the concrete

I could hear a few voices calling out Marco

and Polo,

the riffling sound of umbrella fabric in the breeze,

and the almost audible hum of heat in the atmosphere.

The gate creaked a bit as I lifted the latch and walked through,

and I fumbled in my bag for my sun hat

clapping it onto my head and sighing with the relief of shade over my eyes

and the sweet sight of the village pool

with plenty of open lounge chairs

and shady spots to stretch out in.

I've been coming here since I was in water wings.

In fact,

I'd taken swim classes in the shallow end

and learned just enough about diving to avoid belly flops on the board.

It was a large rectangular pool

with faded painted lines on the concrete surround,

a tall lifeguard's chair,

a snack bar and changing rooms

that all added up to one of my favorite places

to spend a summer day.

I strolled down the side of the pool,

watching a few people on floats

and inner tubes,

enjoying the sun and cool water.

I've always been tickled by the fact that

when we are out in the sun,

at the beach,

or by the pool,

we recognize

that we are going to need to lie down.

Even folks who struggle to relax and rest

will almost always surrender

to the urge to be horizontal

when under the sun and near the water.

And I

was not a person who struggled to relax.

I rather hoped we could extend the custom to more places

loungers at the lanes,

trundle beds at the train station,

cots at the cafe.

I hoped it would be the wave of the future.

Speaking of waves,

a swimmer, breast stroking through a lane at the far end of the pool,

was hardly making any,

and I was impressed.

Well, I could certainly swim a few laps,

tread water when needed,

and sometimes float stretched out on my back.

I didn't have good form.

I didn't even know what it was and wasn't.

The swimmer flipped in the water as he came to the wall,

pushed off and started another lap.

I thought it must be a meditative kind of movement,

the rhythm that would build

as he worked back and forth across the pool,

creating

a calm inner space.

The lounge chairs were set out in rows,

with plenty of umbrellas scattered among them.

And I settled my bag onto one in a quiet, empty section.

The umbrella nearby was still closed,

and I took a few moments to crank it open

and tilt it until my chair was well shaded.

My bag held a paperback,

a mystery that I'd found in the little library on my corner the week before.

I'd fallen asleep reading it in bed

and planned to do exactly the same thing

on this lounge chair.

But first, I needed a couple of towels.

I stashed my flip-flops under the chair and headed toward the cabana.

It was a squat, square building with changing rooms on either side

and a towel desk in the front.

The changing rooms were surprisingly beautiful,

and I remembered being amazed by them when I was a child.

They had high windows

and let aquacolored light in,

and along the walls and floors were tile mosaics

showing fish

and mermaids,

and fountains overflowing with sparkling water.

Although I already had my swimsuit on under my sundress,

I still poked my head in

just to admire the tiles

and listen to the way the voices from outside

echoed against the walls.

I grabbed two giant towels from the booth and made my way back around the pool.

The cement under my feet was hotter than I expected.

But I sort of enjoyed the way it tingled against my soles.

The idea of a swim was sounding better by the minute.

I dropped my towels off on my chair

and slipped out of my dress,

hanging it from a spoke of the umbrella.

My steps grew more hurried on the hot walkways

as I made my way back to the pool

and I heard a voice in my head

that had been well planted from childhood say,

No running by the pool.

I chuckled and went carefully.

The pool had a sun shelf,

with a series of wide steps leading in at one corner,

and several ladders here and there.

I decided on the the stairs,

and that first step in was heavenly.

The water was cool and refreshing, and suddenly I wanted to be surrounded by it.

Step by step,

I plunged forward until I was up to my shoulders.

The way the coolness

spread through my whole body.

From my first swim as a kid to this one,

and every dip in between,

it never got old.

It always felt so good.

I sighed,

happy and grateful

for this resource I knew not every community had.

I dove under and pulled myself through the water,

broke the surface,

and flipped on to my back,

kicking my feet

and taking lazy back strokes.

I remembered staying in the water

so long when I was young that my fingers turned pruny,

my hair turned green at the tips,

and when I'd finally been pried out for the night,

I could feel a bit of water in my chest with every deep breath.

For now

I'd had enough.

I was refreshed and ready for my lounge chair.

I swam to the ladder

and reached up,

feeling the warm aluminum under my hands.

I pulled myself up

and climbed out onto the pool deck.

There is a scent,

pool water on concrete,

and it bloomed under me as I walked.

At my chair, I stopped to apply a bit more sunscreen

and arrange my towels,

one long under my body,

and one rolled to support my head,

and settle down in the shade.

Ah, what a feeling

That pleasant fatigue from the heat,

the coolness of the droplets

still on my skin,

the scent of my sunscreen,

and the sound of the water

lapping at the pool's edge.

I set my book at my side,

let my damp palm rest on the cover,

and closed my eyes.

I knew

I was about

to fall asleep.

I could feel it coming like a ball rolling downhill,

picking up momentum,

about to carry me off.

I had a fleeting thought

of going to the snack bar when I woke up,

sliding open the door

on their big ice cream cooler,

and leaning in to find a red twin popsicle.

later

right now

I would just drift away

pool day

it was the place to be today

on a hot late summer day

one with with a cloudless sky

and almost too much sun.

The village pool

was calling my name.

I walked up the path to the gate,

my beach bag slung over my shoulder,

and my flip-flops slapping against the concrete.

I could hear a few voices

calling out Marco

and Polo,

the riffling sound of umbrella fabric in the breeze,

and the almost audible hum of heat in the atmosphere.

The gate creaked a bit

as I lifted the latch and walked through,

and I fumbled in my bag for my sun hat,

clapping it onto my head,

and sighing with the relief of shade over my eyes,

and the sweet sight of the village pool

with plenty of open lounge chairs

and shady spots to stretch out in.

I've been coming here since I was in water wings.

In fact,

I'd taken swim classes in the shallow end

and learned just enough about diving

to avoid belly flops on the board.

It was a large rectangular pool

with faded painted lines

on the concrete surround,

a tall lifeguard's chair,

a snack bar,

and changing rooms

that added up to one of my favorite places

to spend a summer day.

I strolled down the side of the pool,

watching a few people on floats

and inner tubes,

enjoying the sun and cool water

and began my hunt for the perfect spot

I've always been tickled

by the fact that

when we are out in the sun

at the beach

or by the pool

we all recognize that

we are going to need to lie down.

Even folks who struggle to relax and rest

will almost always surrender

to the urge to be horizontal

when under the sun

and near the water.

And I was not a person who struggled to relax.

I rather hoped

we could extend the custom

to more places,

loungers at the lanes,

trundle beds at the train station,

cots at the cafe.

I hoped it would be the wave of the future.

Speaking of waves,

a swimmer breaststroking through a lane

at the far end of the pool

was hardly making any,

and I was impressed.

Well, I could certainly swim a few laps,

tread water when needed,

and sometimes float stretched out on my back.

I didn't have good form,

didn't even know

what it was and wasn't.

The swimmer flipped in the water

as he came to the wall,

pushed off and started another lap.

I thought it must be a meditative

kind of movement.

The rhythm that would build up

as you worked

back and forth across the pool,

creating

a calm

inner space.

The lounge chairs were set out in rows

with plenty of umbrellas

scattered among them,

and I settled my bag onto one

in a quiet, empty section.

The umbrella nearby was still closed,

and it took a few moments to crank it open

and tilt it

until my chair was well shaded.

My bag held a paperback,

a mystery that

I'd found in the little library on my corner the week before.

I'd fallen asleep reading it in bed

and planned to do exactly the same thing

on this lounge chair.

But first, I needed a couple of towels.

I stashed my flip-flops under the chair and headed toward the cabana.

It was a squat, square building,

with changing rooms on either side,

and a towel desk in the front.

The changing rooms were surprisingly beautiful,

and I remembered being amazed by them when I was a child.

They had high windows

that let aquacolored light in,

and along the walls and floors

were tile mosaics

showing fish

and mermaids

and fountains overflowing with sparkling water.

Although I already had my swimsuit on under my sundress,

I still poked my head in

just to admire the tiles

and listen to the way the voices from outside

echoed against the walls.

I grabbed two giant towels from the booth

and made my way back around the pool.

The cement under my feet was hotter than I expected,

but I sort of enjoyed the way

it tingled against my souls.

The idea of a swim

was sounding better by the minute

I dropped my towels off on my chair

and slipped out of my dress,

hanging it from a spoke of the umbrella.

My steps grew more hurried

on the hot walkways,

and I heard a voice in my head

that had been planted from childhood

saying,

No running by the pool.

I chuckled and went carefully.

The pool had a sun shelf,

with a series of wide steps

leading in at one corner,

and several ladders here and there.

I decided on the stairs,

and that first step in

was heavenly.

The water was cool and refreshing,

and suddenly I wanted to be surrounded by it.

Step by step,

I plunged forward until I was up to my shoulders.

The way the coolness

spread through my body

from my first swim as a kid to this one

and every dip in between

it never got old.

It always felt so

good.

I sighed,

happy and grateful

for this resource I knew not every community had.

I dove under

and pulled myself through the water,

broke the surface

and flipped onto my back,

kicking my feet and taking lazy backstrokes.

I thought of the times

when I was young

that I'd stayed in the water so long

that my fingers turned pruny,

my hair turned green at the tips,

and when I'd finally been pried out for the night

I could feel a bit of water rattling in my chest with every breath.

For now, I'd had enough.

I was refreshed

and ready for my lounge chair.

I swam to a ladder

and reached up,

feeling the warm aluminum under my hands.

I I pulled myself up,

climbed out onto the pool deck.

There's a scent,

so familiar, pool water on concrete,

and it bloomed under me as I walked.

At my chair, I stopped to apply

a bit more sunscreen

and arrange my towels

one

long under my body

and one rolled

to support my head

and settled down in the shade

what a feeling

that pleasant fatigue from the heat,

the coolness of the droplets still on my skin,

the scent of my sunscreen,

and the sound of the water

lapping at the pool's edge.

I set my book at my side,

let my damp palm palm rest on the cover

and closed my eyes.

I knew

I was about

to fall asleep.

I could feel it coming

like a ball rolling downhill,

picking up momentum,

about to carry me off.

I had a fleeting thought

of going to the snack bar

when I woke up,

sliding open the door on their big ice cream cooler,

and leaning in to find a red twin popsicle

later,

right now

I would just

drift

away

sweet dreams.