0:01

Welcome to bedtime

0:03

Stories for Everyone,

0:07

in which nothing

0:09

much happens. You'll

0:12

feel good and then

0:15

you fall asleep. I'm

0:18

Katherine Nikolai. I

0:20

read and write all the stories

0:22

you hear on Nothing Much Happens

0:26

with audio engineering by Bob

0:28

Wittersheim. We

0:31

give to a different charity each week,

0:34

and this week we are giving to the

0:36

Save the Music Foundation, helping

0:40

kids, schools, and communities

0:43

realize their full potential through

0:46

the power of making music. Learn

0:49

more about them in our show notes. Our

0:53

stories are meant to ease

0:55

you to sleep, but

0:58

they can also really help to you

1:00

during the day, to

1:03

soothe a way anxiety, shift

1:06

your mood, and just for

1:08

the enjoyment of a soft story

1:11

with no conflict. In

1:14

fact, we made a whole show for

1:16

it. It's called Stories

1:19

from the Village of Nothing Much. It's

1:22

free and you can

1:24

find it on whatever app you

1:26

are listening to now. We

1:29

just released an episode of Marmalade

1:32

and Crumb stories. I

1:35

tell them in a more lively

1:37

voice, and Bob creates

1:40

a beautiful soundscape to go with them.

1:44

Find more about Stories from

1:46

the Village of Nothing Much, as

1:48

well as our premium channels through

1:50

the links in our show notes. Now,

1:56

here's how this works. If

1:59

we can ace you your mind just

2:02

enough, we

2:04

can rock it to sleep. That's

2:07

sort of what This is. A

2:11

lullaby for your thinking mind.

2:15

All you have to do is

2:18

attend, listen, follow

2:21

along with the sound of my voice,

2:25

and we will get there. If

2:28

you're new to this, know

2:31

that it is a kind of conditioning.

2:34

It improves with regular use, so

2:37

be patient, keep tuning

2:40

in. I'll

2:42

tell the story twice, and

2:44

I'll go a little slower on

2:47

the second read through. If

2:50

you wake again in the night, don't

2:52

hesitate to turn a story

2:55

right back on. Most

2:57

people fall back to sleep again within sane

3:00

seconds. Our

3:03

story tonight is

3:05

called Piano Lessons,

3:09

and it's a story about a well loved,

3:11

upright piano and

3:14

the boy who plays it. It's

3:17

also about a little cottage where

3:20

Ivy grows up the bricks, middle

3:24

c lesson

3:26

books and metronomes

3:29

and finding the things that feel

3:31

like they were always meant

3:34

for you. Now,

3:39

let's get comfortable. In

3:43

fact, make supreme

3:45

comfort your number

3:48

one priority. Right now, the

3:52

right pillow, the

3:54

blanket just where you like it, and

3:58

let your muscles so often and

4:01

relax. You

4:05

have done enough for

4:07

the day. Truly

4:12

it is enough. You

4:14

can stop now, draw

4:17

a deep breath in through the nose,

4:23

and sigh from your mouth. One

4:30

more in and

4:35

out. Good

4:44

piano lessons. The

4:48

bright spring sunshine

4:51

was helping me find the dust that

4:55

needed clearing out in our house.

4:59

It always startles me that

5:04

first sunny day when

5:06

you open the front door and

5:09

pull back the curtains

5:13

and suddenly the air is filled

5:16

with floating specks, the

5:21

floorboards crowded with dust

5:23

bunnies big enough to pass

5:26

for tumbleweeds. So

5:30

I'd been working my way through

5:33

the front room,

5:35

running my dust cloth over

5:38

the family photos on the bookshelves,

5:43

the lamp in the front window, the

5:46

broad lid of the piano.

5:51

I noticed it was the least

5:54

dusty thing in the room, and

5:58

I guess I wasn't surprised at that. My

6:03

youngest plays it nearly

6:06

every day. We'd

6:10

come across the piano a

6:13

couple of years before at

6:15

a neighborhood garage sale.

6:20

I still remember the way my son's

6:23

eyes had gone wide when

6:25

he'd seen it. He

6:29

was a quiet boy. There

6:32

was a lot of magic inside of him,

6:36

and sometimes it stayed inside,

6:41

but when he played, it

6:44

came out, and I got

6:46

to enjoy it along with him. The

6:51

piano had come home the next day,

6:56

a rather complicated arrangement

7:00

involving a borrowed truck, several

7:03

friends, planks

7:06

of wood salvaged from

7:08

the garage, and

7:11

a not inconsiderable amount

7:13

of effort, But it had

7:15

all been worth it. We'd

7:18

polished up the cabinet and

7:21

the bench, the

7:23

bottom of which was about

7:25

to fall out from

7:27

all the scores and lesson books

7:30

it had come with. I'd

7:34

organized the lot of them into

7:37

boxes he could work his way

7:39

through as

7:41

his lessons progressed. Then

7:45

I repaired the bench itself, and

7:48

now it held his first few

7:50

books and performance pieces.

7:56

The piano had been badly

7:58

in need of a tune up when

8:00

it came home, and

8:02

my son had found the process

8:06

fascinating. He's

8:10

often shy around new people,

8:14

but he'd met a kindred spirit and

8:17

the woman who'd come with a bag of

8:19

tools to

8:22

attend to the piano.

8:26

He'd watched as she'd

8:28

opened up the soundboard and

8:30

taken her hammer, wrench

8:33

and tuning key from her bag. She'd

8:38

patiently explained what she was

8:40

doing as she isolated

8:43

middle c tuned

8:46

it and set the pin. Then

8:52

they'd worked their way through the keys,

8:56

playing, listening needs

9:00

strings, or loosening them. He

9:04

had an ear for it, could

9:06

hear when a note was even

9:10

just a fraction flat or

9:13

sharp, and

9:16

he could name a note just by hearing it.

9:21

He knew it the same way I

9:23

could tell an orange cran from a

9:25

red, with

9:28

no hesitation and a

9:30

little confusion as to why

9:33

others struggled to do the same. The

9:38

tuner came every six months,

9:41

and he had it marked down on the calendar

9:44

on the fridge,

9:46

and would meet her at the door and

9:49

reach for her tools, slinging

9:52

the strap of her bag over

9:54

his own little shoulder. He'd

9:59

played his first recital last

10:01

year, and

10:03

the man who owned the piano last,

10:08

who had kindly given it to us in

10:11

exchange for an invitation to

10:13

that recital, had

10:16

attended and sat

10:18

proudly beside us. He'd

10:22

taken pictures and then

10:24

listened to the music with

10:27

his eyes closed, a

10:29

soft smile on his face. He'd

10:34

also come for Thanksgiving, and

10:37

when the tables were full and

10:40

we were beginning to run out of seats,

10:44

he'd mentioned that his

10:47

wife had always pulled up the piano

10:49

bench when they needed

10:51

an extra spot. For someone.

10:55

I looked at my son, thinking

10:59

he might not want anyone else

11:02

sitting on his bench. He'd

11:06

leaned in close to my ear and

11:10

whispered that he could share

11:12

the bench if it

11:15

was with our new friend. The

11:17

two of them would fit, so

11:21

we'd move chairs around and

11:24

they'd sat side by side, eating

11:26

their sweet potatoes and stuffing. During

11:32

the school year, he

11:35

just had one lesson a week. There

11:39

were lots of other things to do, ways

11:43

to play, and I wanted

11:46

him to have time to go to

11:48

the library, to

11:50

ride his bike, to

11:52

play video games with his friends,

11:56

and days when he had nothing scheduled

11:59

at all. Now

12:02

that summer was coming, I'd

12:04

left it up to him. Did

12:08

he want to play

12:10

more piano, maybe

12:13

have lessons twice a week. He'd

12:18

sat quiet for a minute

12:20

or two thinking it through,

12:24

then nodded. Twice

12:27

a week sounded good to him. His

12:32

piano teacher lived in a little

12:34

cottage in a pretty neighborhood

12:37

north of town. Ivy

12:41

grew up the brick beside her front

12:43

porch, and

12:45

in the yard was a small carved

12:48

sign saying piano

12:50

lessons. She

12:55

had come to our house a few times,

12:58

but I think we both liked going

13:01

to her house instead. There

13:05

was a very comfortable space. She'd

13:09

been a musician for years,

13:14

and her mantle was covered with pictures

13:17

of her in her youth, outside

13:20

theaters and concert venues,

13:24

pointing up to her

13:26

own name on the marquee,

13:31

or crowded around a microphone

13:33

with others in a recording

13:36

studio. When

13:40

we showed up on her front porch, him

13:43

with his practice books under his arm,

13:47

me with whatever novel I'd

13:49

been reading lately, she'd

13:53

opened the door and stepped

13:55

back to let us in, and

13:58

it felt like being

14:01

allowed into a sanctuary. Inside

14:07

the floors were laid with thick rugs,

14:11

but I guessed were knotted by hand somewhere

14:13

far away. The

14:18

air smelled of sandal wood and

14:21

green tea, and her

14:23

furniture was beautiful and

14:26

comfortable. Her

14:29

front window held creeping

14:31

pathos and a

14:33

healthy asparagus fern. Here

14:38

was a woman who had built

14:41

a life she loved,

14:45

who knew how to protect her peace. We

14:49

were there for him, for

14:52

him to take lessons from her, but

14:56

I often felt I was learning

14:58

as well, mentally

15:01

taking notes. As I settled

15:03

onto a sofa out of the way, they'd

15:08

open the books on the stand

15:12

and he'd warm up his fingers playing

15:15

through scales and exercises.

15:20

I loved watching him set the metronome,

15:25

sliding the swinging arm out from

15:27

behind its stopper, adjusting

15:32

the tempo and letting it tick, then

15:36

watching him tap his toe which

15:39

barely reached the ground, to

15:42

find a rhythm. I'd

15:46

prop my novel open on my lap,

15:49

read a few words, listen

15:52

to his playing the

15:54

quiet discussion. The

15:57

spring recital was going to be at

16:01

the Inn by the Lake this year, on

16:06

their big back porch, where

16:09

he'd help turn pages for his

16:12

teacher while she played for

16:14

a wedding the September before. I

16:19

imagined him playing the

16:22

music echoing over the water, the

16:25

birds stopping to listen along

16:27

with us, me

16:30

holding tightly to a bouquet of flowers

16:33

to hand to him. After not

16:38

everything we try when we

16:40

are young or when we

16:42

are grown suits us.

16:47

I was so glad that we'd found something

16:51

that suited him so

16:53

well. Piano

16:58

lessons. The

17:02

bright spring sunshine

17:05

was helping me find the dust that

17:09

needed clearing out in our house.

17:16

It always startles me that

17:19

first sunny day when

17:23

you open the front door and

17:26

pull back the curtains

17:30

and suddenly the air is filled

17:34

with floating specks,

17:38

the floor boards crowded

17:40

with dust bunnies big

17:43

enough to pass for tumbleweeds.

17:50

So I'd been working my way

17:53

through the front room,

17:57

running my dust cloth over

18:00

the family photos on

18:02

the bookshelves, the

18:06

lamp in the front window, and

18:09

the broad lid of the piano. As

18:14

I did, I noticed

18:17

it was the least dusty

18:19

thing in the room, and

18:25

I guess I wasn't surprised

18:28

at that. My

18:31

youngest plays it nearly

18:33

every day. We'd

18:37

come across the piano a

18:40

couple of years before at

18:44

a neighborhood garage sale.

18:48

I still remember the way my

18:52

son's eyes had gone wide

18:54

when he'd seen it. He

18:59

was a quiet boy. There

19:03

was a lot of magic inside him,

19:07

and sometimes it

19:09

stayed inside,

19:13

but when he played, it

19:15

came out, and

19:18

I got to enjoy it along with

19:20

him. The

19:24

piano had come home the next

19:26

day, a

19:29

rather complicated arrangement

19:33

involving a borrowed truck, several

19:37

friends, planks

19:40

of wood salvaged from

19:43

the garage,

19:45

and a not inconsiderable

19:48

amount of effort, but

19:51

it had all been worth it. We

19:57

polished up the cabinet and

19:59

bench, wh the

20:02

bottom of which was about

20:05

to fall out from

20:08

all the scores and lesson books

20:11

it had come with. I'd

20:16

organized the lot of them into

20:18

boxes he could work

20:20

his way into as

20:23

his lessons progressed. Then

20:28

I repaired the bench itself.

20:32

Now it held

20:34

his first few books and

20:37

performance pieces. The

20:42

piano had been badly in

20:44

need of a tune up when

20:47

it came home, and

20:51

my son had found the process

20:53

fascinating. He's

20:56

often shy around new

20:58

people, but

21:01

he'd met a kindred spirit in

21:04

the woman who'd come with

21:07

a bag of tools to attend to

21:10

the piano. He'd

21:15

watched as she'd opened up

21:17

the soundboard and

21:20

taken her hammer, wrench

21:23

and tuning key from her bag. She'd

21:29

patiently explained what

21:32

she was doing as she

21:34

isolated middle c tuned

21:38

it, and set

21:40

the pin. Then

21:44

they'd worked their way through the

21:47

keys, playing,

21:50

listening, tightening

21:54

strings, or loosening them. Had

22:00

an ear for it, could

22:03

hear when a note was even

22:07

just a fraction flat or

22:09

sharp, and

22:12

he could name a note just

22:15

by hearing it. He

22:20

knew it in the same way I

22:23

could tell an orange crayon from

22:25

red with

22:28

no hesitation and a

22:31

little confusion as

22:34

to why others struggled

22:36

to do the same. The

22:41

tuner came every six

22:43

months, and

22:46

he had it marked down on the

22:48

calendar on the fridge,

22:53

and would meet her at the door and

22:56

reach for her tools, slinging

23:00

the strap of her bag over

23:04

his own little shoulder.

23:11

He'd played his first recital

23:13

last year, and

23:16

the man who'd owned the piano

23:19

last who'd

23:22

kindly given it to us in

23:25

exchange for an invitation to

23:28

that recital, had

23:32

attended and sat

23:34

proudly beside us. He'd

23:41

taken pictures and

23:44

then listened to the music with

23:46

his eyes closed and

23:49

a soft smile on his

23:51

face. He'd

23:56

also come for Thanksgiving, and

24:00

when the tables were full and

24:04

we were beginning to run

24:06

out of seats, he'd

24:10

mentioned that his wife had

24:12

always pulled up

24:14

the piano bench when

24:18

they'd needed an extra spot for someone.

24:24

I'd looked at my son, thinking

24:29

he might not want anyone

24:32

else sitting on his bench.

24:39

He'd leaned in close to my ear

24:42

and whispered that he

24:45

could share the bench if

24:49

it was with our new

24:51

friend. The two

24:53

of them would fit. So

24:58

we'd moved chairs around and

25:01

they'd sat side by side,

25:04

eating their sweet potatoes and stuffing.

25:11

During the school year, he'd

25:15

had just one lesson a week.

25:19

There were lots of other things

25:21

to do, ways

25:24

to play, and

25:28

I wanted him to have time to

25:30

go to the library, to

25:34

ride his bike, to

25:37

play video games with

25:39

his friends, and

25:43

days when he had nothing

25:45

scheduled at all. Now

25:51

that summer was coming, but

25:54

left it up to him. Did

25:58

he want to play more piano, maybe

26:01

have lessons twice a

26:04

week. He'd

26:07

sat quiet for a minute or two

26:10

thinking it through, then

26:13

nodded. Twice

26:17

a week sounded good to him. His

26:24

piano teacher lived

26:26

in a little cottage

26:29

in a pretty neighborhood north of town.

26:34

Ivy grew up the brick beside

26:37

her front porch, and

26:40

in the yard was

26:42

a small carved sign saying

26:46

piano lessons. She

26:52

had come to our house a few times,

26:56

but I think we both liked going

26:59

to her house instead. It

27:04

was a very comfortable space.

27:08

She'd been a musician for years,

27:13

and her mantle was covered with pictures

27:16

of her in her youth, outside

27:21

theaters and

27:23

concert venues, pointing

27:27

up to her own name on the marquee,

27:33

or crowded around a microphone

27:35

with others in recording

27:37

studios. When

27:43

we showed up on her front porch,

27:46

him with his practice books

27:48

under his arm, me

27:52

with whatever novel I'd been reading

27:54

lately. She'd

27:58

open the door and stepped

28:01

back to let us in, and

28:04

it felt like being allowed into

28:07

a sanctuary. Inside,

28:13

the flowers were laid with thick

28:15

rugs that I guessed

28:17

were knotted by hand somewhere

28:20

far away. The

28:25

air smelled of sandal wood and

28:28

green tea, and

28:30

her furniture was beautiful and

28:33

comfortable. Her

28:37

front window held creeping

28:40

pathos and

28:42

a healthy asparagus

28:44

fern. Here

28:49

was a woman who had built

28:51

a life she loved, who

28:56

knew how to protect her peace.

29:02

We were there for him, for

29:06

him to take lessons from her, but

29:12

I often felt like I

29:14

was learning as well, mentally

29:20

taking notes as I settled

29:22

onto a sofa out of the way.

29:29

The recital was going to be at

29:31

the Inn by the Lake this year,

29:37

on their big back porch, where

29:40

he'd help turn pages for his

29:43

teacher while

29:45

she'd played for a wedding the september

29:48

before. I

29:52

imagined him playing, the

29:55

music echoing

29:58

over the water, the

30:01

birds stopping to listen along

30:03

with us,

30:07

ME holding tightly to

30:09

a bouquet of flowers to

30:12

hand to him after not

30:18

everything we try when

30:20

we are young or

30:23

when we are grown suits

30:26

us

30:29

I was so glad we'd found something

30:32

that suited him

30:34

so well. Sweet

30:39

Dreams