Rosewater and Witch Hazel

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If you already listen to me, then you know bedtime stories can be powerful tools for rest.

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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.

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Now,

I have a story for you.

It's a place to rest your mind, full of quiet details and a little short on action.

All you need to do is listen.

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

This is brain training.

Give it some time to work.

Be patient.

Our story tonight is called Rosewater and Witch Hazel.

And it's a story about reclaiming your sparkle on a moonlit night.

It's also about a gray cat.

on a friendly neighborhood shop for needful things.

Flower petals and vanilla pods

brown paper and an ink pad and taking time to pamper yourself just as you deserve

so lights out campers

set everything down be done with today

it was what it was

and now we are here

take a slow deep breath in through your nose

Let it out from your mouth.

Do it again.

Breathe in.

Let it go.

Good.

Rose water and witch hazel.

I stood at the counter of the curios shop as moonlight shone through the window

and the fire crackled and popped in the grate.

Cinder, the silky gray cat,

sat on the counter beside me,

listening intently as I described what I was looking for.

She wasn't the only one listening, of course.

The shopkeeper,

the gentle head of our circle of kind-hearted witches,

was pulling bottles and packets from shelves as I spoke.

I've just lost a bit of my spark, I said.

She looked over her shoulder at me,

detecting that I was holding something back.

There's no getting around her intuition.

Okay,

it's bigger than that, I admitted.

It's my confidence.

Lately my spells fall flat.

My dreams at night are reruns.

I used to walk into rooms with my head held high.

Now I'm shuffling around just trying to remember what I walked in for in the first place.

It's like everyone else is in technicolor,

and I'm just a pale shade of grey.

Cinder bristled at that, her own grey fur sending up a few cranky sparks into the air.

Pardon me, Cinder.

It was a simile, and not a fair one.

You are absolutely gorgeous.

As are you, said the witch, as she began to wrap the goods she'd gathered.

You just need to remind yourself.

Here are a few things to change

not how you look, but how you look at yourself.

A little glamour magic will do the trick.

As she wrapped my purchases in brown paper and ribbon,

she explained that this was self care as spell work

a way to use loving action to remind myself that I matter

and that I deserve to be well cared for

and even pampered.

She pressed a stamp into an ink pad

and then onto the paper.

It left a mark of their logo,

a book with ribbons marking the pages,

and a cat sitting on a shelf.

She slid the parcel across the counter,

and the inked cat in the logo swished its tail and winked at me.

I chuckled, thanked her,

and carried my treasures home for an evening of glamour and care.

As I unpacked it at my kitchen table,

I found a bottle of rose water

and pulled the stopper out of it to smell the sweet scent.

I knew it had a hundred uses and was glad she'd given me a rather large bottle.

Next there was a box of handcrafted tea.

The label simply read glow

and it recommended that it be steeped for three minutes exactly and drunk for increased radiance.

I set it on a shelf beside my teacup for later.

Next from the package, I took out a candle and a jar that smelled of lavender.

A bottle of witch hazel that had a cartoon witch named Hazel on the tag,

and an oil that shimmered like gold.

The last thing out was a simmer pot packet,

which I immediately took over to the stove to get started.

From my cupboard I pulled my largest soup pot

and filled it with water at the tap.

Then I clicked on the gas

and set it to warm.

The packet had long spirals

of dried orange rind, rose petals,

sticky vanilla pods that had been split and were full of tiny fragrant seeds, and a few cinnamon sticks.

I tipped them into the pot as it began to steam

and stood for a few moments,

watching the vapor rise up to make shapes in the air,

hearts and stars,

and a long jagged line of lightning that struck me with a sudden feeling of power

and assuredness.

I breathed it in.

I'd been a part of the village circle of witches for a few seasons now.

And one of the most magical things

I'd learned to do

was breathe,

slow and deep,

and feel it moving in my body.

I left the shapes of steam drifting through the kitchen

and carried my other treasures to my bedroom vanity and set them out.

I had a grandmother who had kept a vanity as if it were an altar.

The mirror was spotless.

The tabletop was spread with a pretty embroidered cloth

that she changed weekly,

and all her cosmetics and lotions

were in fine glass jars.

She had an atomizer with a long stem and a tasseled bulb at its end,

and she used a powder puff on a pearly handle.

Even her rings and necklaces were stored in a velvet-lined box

that looked to my young eyes like the kind a queen would have in her dressing room.

The message it sent

was that she deserved

intentional,

special,

and yes, deliberately glamorous care.

I'd gotten away from that kind a while back.

I took a moment now to tidy up my space.

I cleared off the tabletop,

tossing out scraps of paper and clothes tags that hadn't made it to the wastebasket.

Then I wiped the surface of dust

and set out the bottles.

While I wasn't as interested in lace and powder puffs as Gran had been,

my vanity was still decorated,

just in my own style.

There was a photo strip from a booth in the park, tucked into the frame of the mirror.

Funny faces and a stolen kiss.

I had a small dish for my rings that I'd made in a pottery class,

and a bud vase

where I kept a fresh flower at all times.

Right now,

it was a stem of moonflower

that bloomed in the dark.

I remembered the instructions I'd been given at the shop.

Slow down

and notice how each thing smells and feels.

Play music that makes you feel good.

Wash away the old energy

and replace it with the clearer vision

of your own worth and beauty.

And even though I still had lots to learn about magic,

this sounded easy enough.

I lit the candle and pulled up a playlist of favorite songs that made me feel like dancing and went to wash my face.

Warm water,

suds, and a slow massage at my temples and jaw.

It was starting to work.

I was beginning to genuinely enjoy this process.

Back at my vanity,

I swabbed my skin with the witch hazel,

which I'd been told was clarifying.

Clear thoughts, I said aloud.

Then I splashed the rose water onto my hands

and pressed it into my cheeks and forehead

as I patted the hydrating liquid in with my finger tips, feeling it absorb,

I pressed in confidence as well.

I am brave.

I am beautiful.

I am enough, I said.

Finally, I squeezed a few drops of the shimmering oil,

fortified with blue tansy, onto my palms, smoothed it over my face.

I sprinkled a bit more rose water onto my hairbrush

and brushed my locks out with long, patient strokes.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

My skin and eyes were glowing,

my hair shining.

I could could smell roses and tansy.

I walked to the window and pushed it up,

leaned on the sill,

out into the night air.

An owl hooted in the darkness, calling out,

Who?

Who?

I heard my own voice answer, soft but certain.

Me.

Rose water

and witch hazel

I stood at the counter of the curios shop

as moonlight shone through the window

and the fire crackled and popped in the grate

Cinder,

the silky grey cat,

sat on the counter beside me,

listening intently

as I described what I was looking for.

She wasn't the only one listening, of course.

The shopkeeper,

the gentle head

of our circle of kind-hearted witches,

was pulling bottles and packets from shelves as I spoke.

I've just

lost a bit of my spark, I said.

She looked over her shoulder at me,

detecting that I was holding something back.

There's no getting around

her intuition.

Okay,

it's bigger than that, I admitted.

It's my confidence.

Lately, my spells fall flat.

My dreams at night are reruns.

I used to walk into rooms with my head held high.

Now I'm shuffling around,

just trying to remember what I walked in for in the first place.

It's like everyone else is in technicolor,

and I'm just a pale shade of gray.

Cinder bristled at that,

her own grey fur

sending up a few cranky sparks into the air.

Oh,

pardon me, Cinder.

It was a simile,

and not a fair one.

You are absolutely gorgeous.

As are you,

said the witch,

as she began to wrap the goods she'd gathered.

You just need to remind yourself

here are a few things to change

not how you look,

but how you look at yourself.

A little glamour magic will do the trick

As she wrapped my purchases in brown paper and ribbon,

she explained that this was self-care as spell work,

a way to use loving action,

to remind myself that I matter

and that I deserve to be well cared for

and even pampered.

She pressed a stamp into an ink pad

and then on to the paper.

It left a mark of their logo,

a book with ribbons marking the pages,

and a cat sitting on a shelf.

She slid the parcel across the counter

and the inked cat in the logo

swished its tail and winked at me.

I chuckled,

thanked her,

and carried my treasures home

for an evening of glamour and care.

As I unpacked the parcel

on my kitchen table,

I found a bottle of rose water

and pulled the stopper out of it

to smell the sweet scent.

I knew it had a hundred uses

and was glad she'd given me a rather large bottle.

Next,

there was a box of hand-crafted tea.

The label simply read

glow,

and it recommended that it be steeped for three minutes exactly

and drunk for increased radiance.

I set it on the shelf beside my teacup for later.

Next from the package,

I took out a candle in a jar that smelled of lavender,

a bottle of witch hazel

that had a cartoon witch named Hazel on the tag,

and an oil that shimmered like gold.

The last thing out was a simmer pot packet,

which I immediately took over to the stove to get started.

From the cupboard, I pulled my largest soup pot

and filled it with water at the tap.

Then I clicked on the gas

and set it to warm.

The packet had long spirals

of dried orange rind,

rose petals,

sticky vanilla pods

that had been split

and were full of tiny, fragrant seeds,

and a few cinnamon sticks.

I tipped them into the pot

As it began to steam,

and stood for a few moments,

watching the vapor rise

and make shapes in the air.

Hearts and stars,

and a long jagged line of lightning

that struck me with a sudden feeling

of power and assuredness.

I breathed it in.

I'd been a part of the village circle of witches for a few seasons now.

And one of the most magical things I'd learned to do

was breathe

slow and deep

and feel it moving in my body.

I left the shapes of steam drifting through the kitchen

and carried my other treasures to my bedroom vanity and set them out.

I had a grandmother who kept a vanity

as if it were an altar.

The mirror was spotless.

The tabletop spread with a pretty embroidered cloth

that she changed weekly,

and all her cosmetics

and lotions

were in fine glass jars.

She had an atomizer

with a long stem

and tasseled bulb at its end.

And she used a powder puff

on a pearly handle.

Even her rings

and necklaces

were stored in a velvet-lined box

that looked to my eyes like the kind a queen would have

in her dressing room

the message it sent

was that the care she deserved

was intentional

special

and yes

deliberately glamorous

I'd gotten away from that kind of care a while back.

I took a moment now to tidy up my space.

I cleared off the tabletop,

tossing out scraps of paper and clothes tags

that hadn't made it into the wastebasket.

Then I wiped the surface of dust

and set out the bottles.

While I wasn't as interested

in lace and powder puffs

as Gran had been,

my vanity was still decorated

just

in my own style

there was a photo strip

from the booth in the park

tucked into the frame of the mirror

funny faces and a stolen kiss

I had a small dish for my rings that I'd made in a pottery class

and a bud face

with a fresh flower in it at all times.

Right now it was a stem of moonflower

that bloomed in the dark.

I thought back to the instructions I'd been given at the shop.

Slow down

and notice how each thing smells and feels.

Play music that makes you feel good.

Wash away the old energy

and replace it with a clearer vision of your own worth and beauty.

And even though I still had lots to learn about magic,

it sounded easy enough.

I lit the candle

and pulled up a playlist of favorite songs

that made me feel like dancing

and went to wash my face.

Warm water,

suds,

and a slow massage at my temples and jaw.

It was working already.

I was starting to genuinely

enjoy this process.

Back at my vanity,

I swabbed my skin with the witch hazel,

which I'd been told was clarifying.

Clear thoughts, I said aloud.

Then I splashed the rose water into my hands and pressed it into my cheeks and forehead.

As I tapped the hydrating liquid in with my fingertips,

feeling it absorb,

I also pressed in confidence.

I am brave.

I am beautiful.

I am enough, I said.

Finally, I squeezed a few drops

of the shimmering oil,

fortified with blue tansy

onto my palms,

smoothed it over my face.

I sprinkled a bit more rose water

onto my hairbrush

and brushed my locks out with long, patient strokes.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

My skin and eyes were glowing,

my hair shining.

I could smell roses and tansy.

I walked to the window,

pushed it up,

leaned on the sill,

and out into the night air.

An owl hooted in the darkness,

calling out, Who,

who?

I heard my own voice answer,

soft

but certain

me,

sweet dreams.