Catherine Nicolai
speaker
319 appearances
2 recordings
1 series
first heard Dec 2024
last heard Jan 2025
Catherine Nicolai’s voice in public audio — every appearance, attributed to the second.
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Nothing much happens: bedtime stories to help you sleep · Merry Much Happens - 2024 · 16 Dec 2024
podcast
and I felt quite lucky to get to experience it at all. It's a thing I love about humans, when they find a passion and put themselves into it. The gardener who knows the Latin names for all the plants in their greenhouse, The amateur astronomer watching for a comet in the quiet of early morning. Knitters and potters and model railroad enthusiasts.
Isn't it just another version of the little kid who knows every kind of dinosaur? When I was in college, there was a storefront between the bagel shop I stopped at most every morning and my first class of the day. In that shop, a man with silver hair made fine suits by hand. And I often peered in to watch him, dressed neatly in one of his own suits, as he ironed fabric and marked it with chalk.
Years later, I still thought of him often. His work was clearly a passion. And he did it with such care and skill. The people who wore his suits must have felt like they were walking around in a work of art. My box of popcorn was nearly empty. and remembering that the trains would be on display all month. I pulled my hat tight over my ears and got ready to head back into the night.
I pretended I was stepping off a train rather than out of a theater. And as I strolled through town, I made up a story about coming home for the holidays. My first time back in my hometown after a while away. And who might be waiting for me? caring a lot about something, finding a passion, imagining, telling stories, and playing pretend. I would never be too grown up for any of it.
The Innkeeper's Holiday For most of the winter season, the inn sat quiet and dark. There might be a light on in one of the rooms on the top floor or in the library as the innkeeper caught up on her rest and relaxation. she cooked small meals for herself down in the kitchen and shoveled just enough of the front drive to get in and out. She watched from the back porch as the lake froze over,
and answered the phone when it rang with guests calling to book their summer stays. But starting in the middle of December, the great house began to light up. Strands of twinkle lights were wound around the fence posts in the drive. and along the roof lines and porch rails. The window boxes were stuffed with pine boughs and holly berries and tall, dried pine cones.
The innkeeper thought that there was something reminiscent of a honeycomb in their shape. as she tucked them into place. In the attic, she found boxes of glass ornaments and pretty ceramic reindeer that looked like they'd been sculpted by hand. She'd been pushing the attic stairs back up into place when she heard a car door slam from the drive.
She hurried to the window in the staircase and saw a chef standing on the cobblestones, looking up at her. She waved. And Chef waved back and popped open the hatchback on their car, showing the crates of fresh food and cases of champagne they'd brought. The innkeeper smiled wide and clapped her hands like a child.
She'd liked having the place to herself for a while, to read her books and make plans for next summer. But she was ready for a bit of company, for the house to hum with life again. for the good sense of coffee cake and scones to rise up from the kitchen, and for guests to come and celebrate the end of one year and the beginning of another.
She set her boxes of decorations down at the foot of the staircase and pulled her overcoat from the hook in the front office and went out to help Chef with the food. They embraced in the cold air and caught up as they carried the food and wine down the long hallway and into the kitchen.
Chef had been traveling, as they always did during the off-season, some of it for rest and vacation, and some to cook in other kitchens. They'd been somewhere sunny and warm, and after the holidays were headed to a ski chalet for the rest of the winter. In the boxes were jars of beautiful green olives, packets of pine nuts, bags of red onions, and sleeves of fancy crisp crackers.
The innkeeper recognized the ingredients for chef's fancy green olive pate that they served as past appetizers for their guests. There were lots of other things too They'd be making a few big meals and afternoon teas and breakfast over the week or so that the inn was full.
The chef would make a gingerbread inn that would sit on the entryway table and plates of their dark chocolate truffles with flakes of sea salt on top. she left Chef to their work and got back to decorating. She was dusting the reindeer and setting them in a scene on the long mantle above the fireplace when she realized music would make her work a little merrier.
They had a fancy sound system with speakers in all the common rooms. But she also kept a turntable on the desk by the window. And in the boxes she'd brought down were a few holiday albums in cardboard sleeves. She took one out, holding it carefully along its edges with her fingertips, and spun it to read the list of songs on each side.
They were old, jazzy versions sung by crooners and sirens, and she set it on the player and flipped the switch to start it turning. She laid the needle carefully into the groove and listened to the piano and horns and jingle bells as she looked at the cover art. By the afternoon, the tables and mantles were done up.
The wreath was on the front door, and the guest rooms had been made ready with fresh sheets and towels and small tabletop ceramic trees that lit up with a switch and made the rooms glow with soft colors. She shared a plate of sandwiches with Chef in the kitchen, and they talked through the menus. The next day, guests would begin to arrive, and they were booked full for the holiday. What's left?
Chef asked. The innkeeper took a long drink of her tea and said, just the tree. In years past, they'd had it in different spots, sometimes in the front hall to greet guests as they arrived, and sometimes on the back porch where they served champagne and looked out at the houses across the lake, lit up with holiday lights. But this year, they were doing something different.
They'd been working for months to restore the ballroom on the second floor. There had been a leak in the ceiling that had damaged the plaster. and there had been many missing tiles in the parquet floor. The light fixtures had needed rewiring, and the whole space needed fresh paint, new curtains, and furnishings. Now it was ready.
the ceiling patched and painted, glowing filament bulbs in the sconces, and a charming, if slightly mismatched, collection of settees and side tables clustered in groups. The innkeeper thought it would make the perfect spot for the Christmas tree. For guests to gather, to share gifts and wishes for peace on earth. And then, when the year ended, to clink champagne glasses.
and have a midnight kiss. She climbed the stairs to check the space and found the freshly polished floors glowing and the candles on the windowsills ready to be lit. She had the boxes of ornaments and many, many strings of lights ready for the tree. From one window, she could see the lake, frozen for a dozen feet at the shore, and with dark, rippling water farther out. There were still ducks,
Showing 261–280 of 319 · page 14 of 16
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