Something New (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 Nicolai.

I write and read all the stories you hear on nothing much happens.

Audioengineering is by Bob Witterschheim.

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-brassed and sweet dreams.

Now, here's how this works.

Just by listening to the story, we have to tell you.

We'll catch that busy part of your brain that likes to keep you up.

And we'll give it a job to do.

When it's occupied, you're able to sleep.

It really is that simple.

But it may take a bit of practice for this to become automatic.

So have patience if you're new to it.

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

If you wake again in the night, don't hesitate to turn it right back on.

You'll be out again in moments.

Our story tonight is called something new, and it's a story about stumbling upon a beautiful

place on a late summer bichride.

It's also about lily pads and X marked on a map and the joy of watching a friend step

into a new season of their life.

It's time to set everything down.

Turn out your light.

But as comfortable as you can, and feel the soft sheets against your skin.

Notice your shoulders and your jaw relaxing.

Everything getting heavy and sleepy.

I'll be here.

I'll take the next watch.

So you can really let go of everything.

Take a deep breath in through your nose.

Let it out your mouth.

Nice one more.

Breathe in.

And out.

Good.

Something new.

Though the summer was winding down, the bicycle shop was still busy.

We had our now annual Autumn Rides planned, and our customers were coming in to get tuneups

and have their tires patched or replaced.

In my opinion, some of the best riding of the year lay ahead of us in the months between

the heat of summer and the first snow.

I'd been riding every day.

Well, I always bike into work as long as it's not bucketing down rain.

And on the way back home, I often go out of my way just to ride through neighborhoods

and out into the country a bit.

Time on a bike always feels like time will spend.

I find I do some of my best thinking while pedaling.

There's something about my body being engaged.

The steady rhythm of my legs that translates to a clear calm head.

If I go too many days without it, I start to feel like a computer with too many windows

open.

Lately, I'd been riding through a part of town.

I'd not explored much before.

At the end of a long road, which I guess I thought was a dead end, but was in fact a

curve.

The pavement turned to gravel when it circled around a small lake.

The first time I'd followed the curve and seen the view, I'd stopped my bike, dropping

one foot onto the gravel and leaning into my handlebars.

I was just a little out of breath and reached for my water bottle and took a long sip.

There were a few docks stretched out into the lake and along the far side were tall pine

trees and a scattering of houses.

I slid my bottle back into its holder and started to bike around the lake.

Most of the road was shaded by the large old trees and there was a bit of breeze coming

off the water.

I could smell pine and something sweet, maybe lilies or freezer.

Beside one of the docks, I spotted an eagrid, so elegant, seeming, with his long neck

extended as he picked his way through the shallow water.

The trip around the lake had only taken a few minutes and I found on the far side of

it several narrow roads to continue my exploration.

I was debating adding the route to our next community bike ride.

But for now, it felt like my secret and I wanted to keep it.

I thought of the grassy lots I'd seen where a picnic blanket could be spread.

The shallow spots where lily pads flourished and croaking frogs lived.

It was romantic.

That was the word I'd been looking for.

The spot I'd found was romantic.

Then I realized I should share my secret bike route, but not with my community riders.

I could be part of a gift.

There was a wedding coming up just a couple weeks away now and I'd been working on my gift

for the couple in my workshop.

I'd known them both for a while, but had first met the groom a few years before when

I'd stopped my bike at a dog park.

He'd been there with his greyhound birdie trying to get him to chase a ball.

I'd watched from my bike, chuckling under my breath as he threw the ball again and again,

going himself to retrieve it as his dog lay in a cool patch of grass watching disinterestedly.

Eventually he spotted me laughing and laughed himself, coming up to the fence and shrugging

his shoulders.

I don't think he wants to play ball, he said.

Nope, I agreed.

We started talking and he told me birdie was a rescue and I'd likely run as much as

he ever wanted to, so would probably spend the rest of his days lounging away.

I asked if I could say hi to him and he waved me into the fence area.

I've always had a love for greyhounds and getting to pet bird's soft grey ears and scratch

his chest had made my day.

I don't remember when or how, but we'd bumped into each other again a little while later.

Maybe at the bakery or at the bookshop, when we'd become friends.

We'd gone to the big friends giving party in town together.

We'd found a few others to make up a trivia team and one enough that our names were still

up on the blackboard at the pub.

Cookouts, movies, me fixing his rickety old bike whenever it broke down.

Some telling me about a friend who'd found a little orange kitten and how bluebird and

he had been visiting them.

Then that she'd adopted a little dog called Crumb, the name had made me laugh.

I started to notice how he talked about her.

How much he talked about her.

And I wondered if he could hear the smile in his voice whenever he said her name.

I could.

Sometimes it takes us a while to see what our friends can see so easily.

When he'd stopped by the shop and asked if I could help him move a few things, well,

actually everything I'd laughed and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

We'd had a congratulatory cup of coffee in my workshop.

And I'd let him go on about her for as long as he liked.

By then she'd been coming to trivia night for a few weeks and was the strongest player

we had better than either of us.

It was a joy to watch my friend fall in love.

And while it was slightly less joyful to help him haul his sofa up her porch steps,

I'd been there for that too.

And now I'd be standing up with him in the wedding.

And between getting my suit fitted and my shoes polished, I'd been building two new

bikes for them in the shop.

They'd need something new for their wedding when I was tired of putting his old bike back

together.

They were matching cruisers, his gray and hers orange, and tribute to their first beloved

pets.

I'd added a brown basket to hers so that Chrome would also be represented.

And even gotten them a little pet trailer that could attach to the back of either bike.

In case Marmalade the Cat ever wanted to go for a ride, which I frankly doubted, having

met her.

She liked being the queen up on her perch and seemed to prefer to watch the world go by

from her window at home.

The bikes were nearly ready, shiny and assembled in the workshop, and had been waiting for a final

touch, which now I had.

I drew a map to the romantic spot by the lake I'd discovered.

It took a few attempts, had gotten out my ruler and colored pencils, and marked it with

an X.

I rolled it into a scroll and tied it with a ribbon to his handlebars.

Now their first date night was sorted.

Something new.

So the summer was winding down.

The bicycle shop was still busy.

We had our now annual Autumn Rides planned, and our customers were coming in to get tune-ups

and have their tires patched or replaced.

In my opinion, some of the best riding of the year lay ahead of us, in the months between

the heat of summer and the first snow.

I'd been riding every day.

Well, I always bike into work, as long as it's not bucketing down rain.

And on the way back home, I often go out of my way, just to ride through neighborhoods

and out into the country a bit.

Time on a bike always feels like time well spent.

I find I do some of my best thinking while peddling.

There's something about my body being engaged.

The steady rhythm of my legs.

It translates to a calm, clear head.

If I go too many days without it, I start to feel like a computer with too many windows

open.

Lately, I'd been riding through a part of town.

I'd not explored much before.

At the end of a long road, which I guess I'd thought was a dead end, but was in fact a

curve.

The pavement turned to gravel and circled around a small lake.

The first time I'd followed the curve and seen the view, I'd stopped my bike, dropping

one foot onto the gravel and leaning into my handlebars.

I was just a little out of breath and reached for my water bottle and took a long sip.

There were a few docks stretched out into the lake and along the far side were tall pine

trees and a scattering of houses.

I slid my bottle back into its holder and started to bike around the lake.

The first of the road was shaded by the large old trees and there was a bit of breeze coming

off the water.

I could smell pine and something sweet, maybe lilies or freesia.

I'd one of the docks, I spotted an eagrid, so elegant seeming with his long neck extended

as he picked his way through the shallow water.

The trip around the lake had only taken a few minutes and I found on the far side of it several narrow roads to continue my exploration.

I debated adding the route to our next community bike ride.

But for now it felt like my secret and I wanted to keep it.

I thought of the grassy lots I'd seen where a picnic blanket could be spread.

The shallow spots where lily pads flourished and croaking frogs lived.

I was romantic.

That was the word I'd been looking for.

The spot I'd found was romantic.

That was when I realized I should share my secret bike route, but not with my community riders.

Instead, it could be part of a gift.

There was a wedding coming up just a couple weeks away now.

And I'd been working on my gift for the couple in my workshop.

I'd known them both for a while, but had first met the groom a few years before,

when I'd stopped my bike at a dog park.

He'd been there with his greyhound birdie, trying to get him to chase a ball.

I'd watched from my bike, cuckling under my breath, as he threw the ball again and again,

going himself to retrieve it, as his dog lay in a cool patch of grass,

watching disinterestedly.

Eventually, he spotted me laughing and laughed himself, coming up to the fence and shrugging his

shoulders. I don't think he wants to play ball. He said, nope, I agreed.

We started talking, and he told me birdie was a rescue,

and had likely run as much as he ever wanted to.

So, would probably spend the rest of his days lounging away.

I asked if I could say hi to birdie, and he waved me into the fence area.

I've always had a love for greyhounds.

I'm getting to pet bird's soft grey ears, when scratch is chest.

I had had made my day.

I don't remember when or how, but we bumped into each other again a little while later.

Maybe at the bakery, or the bookshop, and we'd become friends.

We'd gone to the big friends giving party in town together.

We'd found a few others to make up a trivia team, and one enough

that our names were still up on the blackboard by the pub.

Cookouts, movies, me fixing his rickety old bike whenever it broke down.

Him telling me about a friend who'd found a little orange kitten,

and how he and Bluebird had been visiting them.

Then, that she'd adopted a little dog called Crumb.

The name had made me laugh.

I started to notice how he talked about her, how much he talked about her.

I wondered if he could hear the smile in his voice, whenever he said her name.

I could.

Sometimes it takes us a while to see what our friends can see so easily.

When he'd stopped by the shop and asked if I could help him move a few things,

well, actually everything I'd left and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

We'd had a congratulatory cup of coffee in my workshop,

and I'd let him go on about her for as long as he liked.

By then, she'd been coming to trivia night for a few weeks,

and was the strongest player we had better than either of us.

It was a joy to watch my friend fall in love.

And while it was slightly less joyful to help him haul his sofa up her porch steps,

I'd been there for that too.

And now, I'd be standing up with him in the wedding,

and between getting my suit fitted and my shoes polished,

I'd been building two new bikes for them in the shop.

They'd need something new for their wedding,

and I was tired of putting his old bike back together.

They were matching cruisers, his gray, and hers orange,

and tribute to their first beloved pets.

I'd added a brown basket to hers, so that crumb would also be represented,

and even gotten them a little pet trailer that attached to the back of either bike,

and in case Marmalade the cat ever wanted to go for a ride,

which I frankly doubted having met her.

She liked being the queen up on her perch, and seemed to prefer to watch the world go by from her

window at home. The bikes were nearly ready, shiny and assembled in the workshop,

and had just been waiting for a final touch, which now I had.

I drew a map to the romantic spot by the lake.

I took a few attempts. I've gotten out my ruler and colored pencils,

and marked it with an X.

I rolled it into a scroll and tied it with a ribbon to his handlebars.

Their first date night was sorted.

Sweet dreams.