Get more Nothing Much Happens with bonus episodes, extra-long stories, and ad-free listening, all while supporting the show you love. Subscribe now. Hi, I'm Katherine Nicolai, and if you're looking for something gentle to listen to that isn't news or true crime or self-improvement, I made this for you. Stories from the Village of Nothing Much is like easy listening, but for fiction. Cozy, warm, calm stories about ordinary moments that feel a little magical. They're grounding, soothing, and quietly uplifting without being cheesy. Relaxing without putting you to sleep. And just dreamy enough to remind you that there's still sweetness in everyday life. Perfect for your commute while you're tidying up or when you want a little escape that feels simple and good. Search for stories from the village of Nothing Much wherever you listen. 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'll 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 the PRISM Project. PRISM Project offers a safe house program, providing full wraparound restorative services to child survivors of trafficking. You can learn more about them in our show notes. For ad-free and bonus episodes, please consider becoming a premium subscriber. There's a button right there on Spotify or Apple for it, or you can go to nothingmuchhappens.com. Busy minds need a place to rest. A gentle tether to keep them in place long enough for sleep to fill in the gaps. And that's how this works. just listen I'll tell the story twice and I'll go a little slower the second time through if you wake in the middle of the night you could listen again or just pull those details back into your mind and think through any part of the story you can remember and you will drop right back off Our story tonight is called The Temperature Blanket, and it's a story about a project inspired by a chance meeting and a yen to keep track of the days as they pass. It's also about blank books and seashells, granny squares and garter stitches, rows of yarn blending into an account of the year and taking a few moments each day to make something lasting and beautiful. So lights out campers get the right pillow in the right spot and make yourself as comfortable as you can. You have done enough for the day. Truly, it is enough. And now nothing remains but deep, restorative sleep. Let my voice be like a guardian, protecting, watching over, keeping you safe as you rest. draw a full breath in through your nose let it out your mouth one more, draw it deep out with a sigh good the temperature blanket Some people write in their journals each night a dear diary moment before going to bed in which they jot down their movements for the day, what they thought or planned or saw. And I have tried it several times, in fact. every so often I see another beautiful blank book in a shop and think this is the one that will inspire me to record my goings on that last one I bought it turned out to not be the one but this one this one will do it I know, even as I am buying it, that the color of the cover, a ribbon to mark the page, or the texture of the paper have nothing to do with whether I will make keeping a diary a long-term habit or not. It's me. Or I should say, maybe, it's not for me. It's something I'd like to think of myself doing. It sounds calm and organized and mature. It's aspirational. But not, apparently, who I actually am. And for a long time, I couldn't reconcile my general interest in archiving. in finding a way to chronicle my days with my inability to do so in writing. Then I realized that there were lots of other ways in which I already kept track and collected experiences, like beads on a string, that told the story of a week or a month or longer. There were the pencil marks on the inside of the pantry door that showed how much my nephews grew each year. The dog-eared pages of my favorite cookbook that were folded over when a new dish was made. the collection of ticket stubs from movies and concerts that covered the fridge. None of them were in a book, but they were all a sort of diary entry. Even the collection of sweatshirts in my closet that I'd been growing since my first trip in college, the seashells in the jar on the front table and the afghan on my sofa were a form of journaling especially the afghan well that was what my grandma had always called them but most folks probably just said blanket I been working on it for nearly a year now and that was not because it was incredibly huge or because I'd gotten distracted and left the work for months at a time. No, it had taken nearly a year because it was a temperature blanket and therefore designed to be knit at the rate of one row per day. I'd never heard of a temperature blanket before coming across one at one of my nephew's soccer games or maybe it had been volleyball. That part doesn't matter. it had been a chilly spring day and the family sitting on the bench next to us had a beautiful blanket stretched over their laps there were so many colors but the way they blended into one another felt like a sunset or watercolors mixing on a canvas when I asked about it they shared that it was a temperature blanket that each row of stitches showed the high temperature of a day of the year I had so many questions and thankfully the man seated right beside me had been the one to make it he told me that he crocheted his, but they were equally beautiful when knitted, that some people even made blankets from granny squares, so that instead of an ombre of color, they looked more like a pixelated picture of the year's weather. so one row per day I asked do you start on January 1st I felt like I'd already missed the opportunity to make one by a few months and how do you pick the colors is there a list somewhere that everyone follows he patted my hand and chuckled leaned in and said, there are no blanket police, my dear, and that had made me smile and relax. He told me I could certainly start on January 1st, if that's what I wanted, but today was just as good a day to begin. That I could even go back and find out the high temperature for each day of the year so far and try to catch up, but that he just picked a day to start and made a new row each day till the sun had gone all the way around the earth. As for the colors, they can be whatever you like. some people pick shades of blue and icy white for colder days greens for mild temperatures and oranges and yellows for the summer and some do it randomly they close their eyes and fish around in their basket of yarn and pull something out and that will be for all days when it's, say, between 10 and 19 degrees. Those blankets can be really pretty and sort of surprising when they're done. He said he'd set up a chart for his own creations decades before and stuck with the same colors ever since so that he could look back and see that, yes, indeed, the summer 15 years ago had been a hot one. Or that year that the winter was so mild it barely even snowed had been three blankets back. I told him I only had a few skeins of yarn at home, not enough for a wide range of temperatures, but that I still wanted to start right away. And he encouraged me, reminding me that since the daily high didn't usually swing by double digits, I'd have time to fit out my craft basket as I went. And I had started that night, When the game had ended, and my nephews and their dads asked if I wanted to join them for dinner at their house, I'd begged off, saying I had big plans for the night. At home, I found my knitting needles A half skein of yarn That was a pretty gray-green And reminded myself How to make a garter stitch Which I felt would be best for this project And soon it became a regular part of my evenings Every night before bed I'd double-check the weather report and my color chart and sit down and knit. I even ran into my blanket mentor a few more times through the end of the spring season and the beginning of the fall. I often brought it with me as a soccer game or dance rehearsal was a perfect place to work. He always asked to see it, to see how far I'd come, and chatted with me about color choices. Now I was just a week or two away from finishing my first temperature blanket. It had become so big that I'd had to stop carrying it around and committed to charting out the last days at home. In it, I saw the days of bitter cold and warm sunshine. I saw the time I'd had to pull out a whole week of work because I'd misread my chart. And I saw my own creative will to turn a year's worth of numbers into a story that was more than the sum of its parts. Blanket or Afghan or diary. I had made a record of my time in this world. And it was beautiful. The temperature blanket. Some people write in their journals each night A dear diary moment before going to bed, in which they jot down their movements for the day, what they thought or planned or saw. And I have tried it several times, in fact. Every so often, I see another beautiful blank book in a shop. and think, this is the one that will inspire me to record my goings-on. That last one I bought, it turned out to not be the one. But this one, this one, will do it. I know, even as I am buying it that the color of the cover a ribbon to mark the page or the texture of the paper have nothing to do with whether I will make keeping a diary a long-term habit or not. It's me, or maybe I should say, it's not for me. It's something I'd like to think of myself doing. It sounds calm and organized. and mature. It's aspirational, but not, apparently, who I actually am. And for a long time, I couldn't reconcile my general interest in archiving, in finding a way to chronicle my days with my inability to do it in writing. Then I realized that there were lots of other ways in which I already kept track and collected experiences like beads on a string that told the story of a week or a month or longer. There were the pencil marks on the inside of the pantry door that showed how much my nephews grew each year. the dog-eared pages of my favorite cookbook that were folded over when a new dish was made, the collection of ticket stubs from movies and concerts that covered the fridge. None of these were in a book, but they were all a sort of diary entry. Even the collection of sweatshirts in my closet that I'd been growing since my first trip in college. The seashells in the jar on the front table and the afghan on my sofa were a form of journaling. especially the Afghan. Well, that was what my grandma had always called them. But most folks probably just said blanket. I'd been working on it for nearly a year now, And that was not because it was incredibly huge, or because I'd gotten distracted and left the work for months at a time. No, it had taken nearly a year because it was a temperature blanket and therefore designed to be knit at the rate of one row per day. I'd never heard of a temperature blanket before coming across one at one of my nephew's soccer games or maybe it had been volleyball that part doesn't matter it had been a chilly spring day and the family on the bench beside us had a beautiful blanket stretched over their laps there were so many colors but the way they blended into one another felt like a sunset or watercolors mixing on a canvas. When I asked about it, they shared that it was a temperature blanket, that each row of stitches showed the high temperature of a day of the year. I had so many questions. And thankfully, the man seated right beside me had been the one to make it. He told me that he'd crocheted his, but they were equally beautiful when knitted. That some people even made blankets from granny squares so that instead of an ombre of color they looked more like a pixelated picture of the year's weather. So, one row per day, I asked. Do you start on January 1st? I felt like I'd already missed the opportunity to make one by a few months. And how do you pick the colors? Is there a list somewhere that everyone follows? He patted my hand and chuckled. leaned in and said, there are no blanket police, my dear, and that had made me smile and relax. He told me I could certainly start on January 1st if it was what I wanted, but today was just as good a day to begin. that I could even go back and find out the high temperature for each day so far and try to catch up, but that he just picked a day to start and made a new row each day till the sun had gone all the way around the earth. As for colors, they can be whatever you like Some people pick shades of blue And icy white for colder days Greens for mild temperatures And oranges and yellows for the summer and some do it randomly. They close their eyes and fish around in their basket of yarn and pull something out and that will be the color for all days when it's, say, between 10 and 19 degrees. those blankets can be really pretty and sort of surprising when they are done he said he'd set up a chart for his own creations decades before and stuck with the same colors ever since so that he could look back and see that, yes, indeed, the summer fifteen years ago had been a hot one, or that the year that the winter was so mild it barely even snowed had been three blankets back, I told him I only had a few skeins of yarn at home, not enough for a wide range of temperatures, but still wanted to start right away. And he encouraged me, reminding me that since the daily high didn't usually swing by double digits I'd have time to fit out my craft basket as I went and I had started that night when the game had ended and my nephews and their dads asked if I wanted to join them for dinner at their house. I'd begged off, saying I had big plans for the night. At home, I found my knitting needles, a half skein of yarn that was a pretty gray-green color and reminded myself how to make a garter stitch, which I felt would be best for this project. And soon, it became a regular part of my evenings. every night before bed I double check the weather report and my color chart and sit down and knit I even ran into my blanket mentor a few times through the end of the spring season and the beginning of the fall. I often brought it with me as a soccer game or dance rehearsal was a perfect place to work. He always asked to see it, to see how far I'd come. and chatted with me about color choices. Now, I was just a week or two away from finishing my first temperature blanket. It had become so big that I'd had to stop carrying it around. and committed to charting out the last days at home. In it, I saw the days of bitter cold and warm sunshine. I saw the time I'd had to pull out a whole week's worth of work because I'd misread my chart and I saw my own creative will to turn a year's worth of numbers into a story that was more than the sum of its parts. Blanket or Afghan or Diary. I had made a record of my time in this world, and it was beautiful. Sweet dreams.
