The Beginning of a Love Story

Published Aug 19, 2024, 4:00 AM

Our stories today are part of a larger arc that started with the most popular residents of the Village, Marmalade the Cat, and her little brother, Crumb the Dog. I’d set out to just tell the next part of their story but found a spark that would eventually lead to love. First comes Raining Cats and Dogs, where we can listen to the thunder, shuffle around the house in the dim stormy light, and contemplate plans for the day. Then we’ll hear Old Friends, a story about a day spent watching movies on the couch, a greyhound in a yellow rain slicker, and a fresh cup of coffee with a bit of sugar stirred in. Finally, we’ll follow the mail carrier through the neighborhood as he delivers special missives with LOVE stamps in RSVP.

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Welcome to Stories from the Village of Nothing Much like easy Listening, but for fiction. I'm Catherine Nikolai. I write and read all the stories you'll hear on the Village of Nothing Much with audio engineering and sound design by Bob Wittershein. In our show notes, you'll find links to our ad free premium version, to our other shows, and to our new wind Down Box, a quarterly sleep subscription box full of products I've handpicked to bring a little more joy and ease to your bedtime. I was just thinking back to the beginning of the Mister Rogers Neighborhood Show, which kept me company many afternoons when I was little. I always think about him coming through the door changing his sweater and shoes while saying he'd always wanted to live in a neighborhood with me. But I just went back and rewatched a few clips, and I'd forgotten about the model of the neighborhood that you see before. That there's a street scape and a small red trolley that is crossing through it. I think, yeah, it's pretty obvious that I was very influenced by that show, by that lovely man and his example of gentle masculinity. The way that I felt included in the world he built. How moving through that model neighborhood at the beginning felt like I was walking down the street with him, waiting for the stoplight in his living room to turn green and for us to start learning together. And so I built this neighborhood. I call it the Village of Nothing Much. It's a similar place for us to go as grown ups. I even have illustrated maps of the village. And if I knew how to build a model for it, you know I would be knee deep in super glue and cardboard cutouts right now. This is a place where you are welcome to relax, to enjoy small pleasures simply because they feel good, and for me to remind you that there are still lots of good things happening every day, and more will happen tomorrow. So won't you be my neighbor. Oh and if you stick around at the end of the episode, I'll give you a little background information on each story. And before we head into the village, let's take a deep breath in through the nose and sigh through the mouth. Do it one more time, Breathe in and let it out. Good Our stories today are part of a larger arc that started with the most popular residence of the village of Nothing Much, Marmalade the cat and her little brother, Crumb the dog. I'd set out to just tell the next part of their story, but found a spark that would eventually lead to love. First comes Raining Cats and Dogs, where we can listen to the thunder shuffle around the house in the dim stormy light and contemplate plans for the day. Then we'll hear old friends a story about a day spent watching movies on the couch. A greyhound and a yellow rain slicker and a fresh cup of coffee with a bit of sugar start in. Finally, we'll follow the mail carrier through the neighborhood as she delivers special missives with love stamps in RSVP, Raining Cats and Dogs, we'd been planning a play date for a while, my orange kitty Marmalade, my little brown dog Crumb, and their good friend Bluebird, who we called Bertie, a gentle greyhound who'd been visiting ever since Marmie was a kitten. We'd planned on tossing tennis balls and frisbees in the backyard for the dogs and letting Marmalade's sunbathe on my lap and her harness, something she begrudgingly allowed me to put on her only because she knew it meant spending time on the patio clicking her teeth at the birds. We'd planned to cook out with Bertie's dad's secret recipe potato salad and grilled corn and other goodies. We thought we could take the dogs for a long walk, maybe fill up a kiddie pool for them to splash through. But this morning, while we were still curled up in bed, we'd heard the crack of thunder and the tattoo of rain beating down all around us. Crumb didn't much like storms, and he'd burrowed deeper under the covers. Marmalade, who for all her pretended annoyance at her little brother, was still a mother, hen to him me out till I lifted the blankets so she could curl up beside him. We laid there for a while, just listening to the rain, and I wondered what would become of our play date. Crumb had been to the Groomers for the first time a few days before, getting spiffed up to see his friend. It was still the year of firsts for us, so I didn't know what he'd think of it. But when I'd pushed open the door to the groomers, he'd stepped right in, curious and confident, and had been a very good boy for them. When I picked him up, I couldn't help but laugh. His spiky brown fur was a soft fuzz, his paws were neat, and his ears were trimmed up and tidy. He grinned up at me with his lips stuck on his snackle tooth, and looked so proud with a summertime bandana tied around his neck. It reminded me of my nephew's second grade picture, which was stuck to the front of the fridge. He'd picked out his own outfit that day, which was creative and goofy, and his hair stuck up at the back, but he'd been happy to have his picture taken. There was a definite resemblance between the two of them. When we'd come home, Marmalade dropped lazily off her perch by the window and circled Crumb a time or two, appraising his new look, then walked away, knowing he would chase her. She was often too cool for school, but Crumb wasn't. He loved her and wanted to sit next to her, eat next to her, snuggle and nap together. She mostly allowed it all while pretending she couldn't care less. But I'd seen her the day Crumb got a burr stuck in his paw. He'd only cried out once and sat on my lap to let me take it out and clean up the boo boo. But Marmee had rushed in at the sound of his squeak, her eyes wide with worry. She'd sat with him and cleaned his face after he'd been patched up, and he laid a bit woe is Me and drunk up every bit of her attention. As the rain came down and another flash of light being sparked through the curtains, I rested my hand on the little lumps in the blanket that were Crumb and Marmalade. What don't we do about our playdate? I asked them. They didn't answer. It's raining, cats and dogs. I laughed, get it? They didn't answer. Oh, I thought it was funny, I said, into the darkness. I reached for my phone, thinking that I would text my joke to my friend Bertie's dad, but found that he had texted me only a minute before. It said it's raining cats and dogs see, I said, it is funny. They didn't move. I let them sleep in and snuck out to make my coffee and check the forecast. By the time I was standing in my robe by the back door with my cup in my hand, Crumb had come down and was considering sneaking into the yard for a quick trip. The lightning had stopped, but the rain was still coming down. I cracked the door open, and he tiptoed out to the closest corner of grass to attend to his morning business, and they came right back in. He got a treat and carried it over to his bed to enjoy it. I tapped up my coffee and shuffled around filling their breakfast bowls and putting out fresh water. The forecast called for more rain, more storms all day long. Marmalade strolled into the kitchen and wove through my ankles. I put a couple slices of bread into the toaster and pushed down the lever, then scooped her up into my arms and carried her over to the window. She leaned into me as she looked out at the dripping branches and gray sky. Her purr was loud, and I thought it the first time I'd ever heard it, and smiled. It was a purr incursive, a purr with exclamation marks. That day, when i'd first seen tiny pop prints in the snow and set up a box for her to warm and hopeful that she'd let me take her inside, I'd tried to play it cool, but I'd had a feeling right away, and it was the same when I'd seen Crumb's adoption picture in the paper. I just knew we were family. Hadn't met yet. Luckily, on that snowy day, she'd decided to skip the box and blanket and come right to the door. We'd been staring out of windows together ever since. I turned and walked us back into the kitchen, just as the toast came popping up out of the toaster and we both jumped. I laughed and sat marmalade down in front of her bowl. I liked our morning routines. Just as I was spreading peanut butter onto my toast, I heard my phone buzz in my pocket. I carried it with my plate over to the kitchen table. Well, said my friend. We could cancel, but Bluebird was really excited to hang out with Crumb and Marmie today, and the potato salad has already made Movies on the couch instead. Crumb stopped eating for a second as I called out to him, movies on the couch with Bertie. He did a couple zoomy circles by his bowl, which I took as a yes please. I smiled at the screen as I typed in my answer, fine twist my arm. Old friends. New friends are nice, meeting new people and finding something in common, building up an infinity, and learning about their past and sense of humor and how they take their coffee. All of that is lovely and important. But old friends, now there's a treasure. Friends who understand you better than you sometimes understand yourself. Friends with whom you can sit quietly and read books. Friends who don't care if you haven't gotten out of your pajamas when they come over on a rainy day. And so I hadn't gotten out of my pajamas. That is, we'd plan to spend the day together with my dog Crumb, my orange kitty, Marmalade, and his big sweet greyhound Birdie. But the sunshine we'd count it on was replaced with rain and thunderstorms and bright bursts of lightning. Rather than call off the playdate, we'd decided to lounge with all the animals on my sofa and watch movies. At first, I'd been a bit disappointed. I'd bought a few new toys and balls for Birdie to chase, and made puppy freezer pops with mashed banana and peanut butter for them to slobber over on the patio. I'd wanted to see them splashing through the kiddie pool i'd pulled out of the garage. But now, as the rain came down, I found myself so glad to have a gloomy day. I needed the break from the heat and the humidity. Crumb and I had been on so many long walks this summer. The thought of putting my feet up and just resting and being with an old friend sounded so good. So I hadn't changed out of my pajamas, but I had brushed my teeth and sort of stuck a clip in my hair. The storm had cooled off the house, and I pulled on an old cart again over my t shirt, but left my feet bare to enjoy the cool feel of the slate tiles in my entryway. I'd been keeping an eye out there for Bertie and his dad through the drenching rains, so I could throw open the door as soon as they climbed the front steps. Crumb didn't like storms because he didn't like the loud booms of thunder, but Bertie didn't like them because he didn't like to get wet. Do you think Bertie will have a sweater on? I whispered to Marmalade, who was keeping watch with me from her perch in the front window. She turned her soft orange face and discerning gold green eyes to me. I was sure she knew quite a few words, just as Crumb did. They knew their names, their words for their favorite treats and things to do, and I was sure they knew the word Bertie. Marmee turned back to the window, scanning the street for her giant gray friend. Bluebird was the first dog she'd met after she'd come to live with me. Wanted to see how she would do around dogs, and since Bertie was the gentlest, sleepiest old man of a dog, I knew i'd asked my friend to bring him over while she was still a kitten. He'd been so patient with her while she jumped and pounced and tossed her cat nip mouse at him. He'd just curled up, unfazed and fallen asleep in front of her as she climbed all over him, finally dozing between his big front paws. She loved him like Crumb loved her? Isn't it always the way? She stood up suddenly on her perch, and I watched her eyes focusing through the downpour. Sure enough, a car was turning into the driveway, and we both spotted Bertie in the passenger seat. In a quick wet rush, they both scampered up the steps and through the door. Crumb came racing in, not wanting to be late to the party, barking and sniffing. My friend passed me Bertie's leash while he dashed back out for a giant floppy dog bed and the potato salad he'd made for our now rained out barbecue. Bertie was not only wearing a sweater. I saw his dad had dressed him in his yellow rainslicker, complete with booties and a hat, and I laughed As I started freeing him from it, I squatted down so I could give him a scratch under his chin and commiserate with him about his outfit. My friend had finally made his last trip in and closed the door behind him as I said, did your dad make you wear this? And clicked my tongue. He doesn't like the rain, you know that, yes, but he does like fashion, I said back, and we all trooped through the hall toward the kitchen. It was late morning, though with the dark, stormy skies it could have been night. Coffee, I asked, while he put the potato salad in the fridge. Is it a fresh pot or is that the one you made this morning? It is fresh, I said, just barely rolling my eyes. He nodded assent, and I took a mug down from the cupboard for him. He scooped up crumb and sat at the table with them while I stirred some sugar into his coffee. If you asked him, he'd say he drank his coffee black, but the truth is he likes it a little sweet. I set it down in front of him and topped up my own cup. He must have had treats in his pocket, because crumb was crunching loudly. As I sat down beside him. Bertie ambled over and laid his head in my hand. He was the oldest of our bunch at six years old, but he had a grandpa energy about him, and had since he was first adopted. He liked a routine, his meals, and his bed. His coat was a silvery gray blue that showed up differently in different light. His ears were incredibly soft, and they drooped on either side of his head. As he watched Marmalade climb onto my lap, she reached out slowly with her face and lightly touched her nose to his. He blinked slowly at her. Oh, my life was good. We chatted, petted the dogs, and tried to agree on a movie, eventually settling on a trilogy that we had watched at least five times before. We carried our coffee cups over to the couch and brought Bertie's bed in beside it. He was just too big with those long, spindly legs to fit on the sofa, and anyway he wanted to stretch out and sleep. I pulled a few blankets from a basket and we tossed them over ourselves as Marmie and Crumb picked out their spots. Crumb liked to pace and scratch a bit before plopping down, and I heckled him, calling hey down in front. The rain was falling in sheets, and the light inside the house was dim and dusky. I pressed Blaye and sipped on my coffee, and we settled in to watch together rs VP. Some days my mail sack is heavy, loaded down with catalogs or junk mail. Some days the rain creeps down the back of my jacket as I walk. The neighborhoods or the sidewalks are icy and the wind is cold. But to day, to day, my bag was as light as my heart. The sky was bright blue and dotted with soft, wispy clouds. To day I looked forward to climbing porch steps and delivering the mail, because in my sack were dozens of square, hand addressed envelopes. They were slotted in between circulars and magazines and bills and other bits of correspondent. I'd spotted them as I sorted this morning, the creamy paper, the careful handwriting, the love stamps that were popular for such missives, and it had made me smile, in a quiet, knowing way, so it was official. I think we'd all seen it coming and just been waiting for the announcement. I certainly had not that I'm nosy. I just pay attention. And when you deliver mail, you notice what car someone drives, You learn the names of their dogs. You notice when something changes. And a few months ago something had changed at Marmalade's house. The orange kiddy, who sat on her perch beside the front door watching me bring the mail each day, watching as her scraggly dog brother Crumb, barked at me through the letter slot, now had another dog friend with her, and he was one I recognized from a neighborhood I also delivered too. I remember that first day, I'd seen the giant greyhound asleep beside the radiator under Marmalade's spot, Crumb barking away as usual, and the greyhound lifting a heavy eyelid to see what all the fuss was about. I'd pushed the bundle of mail in through the slot, peeking in the window and said, Bertie, is that you He didn't get up, which in a way was only a confirmation of his identity. Because Bluebird is a very lazy boy, but he did thump his tail a few times against the floor, and I turned back to my route with a smile on my face. Well well, well, I thought, looks like I'd be delivering Bertie's treats to Marmalade's house from now on. And here I was, months later, delivering more than that to all their neighbors and friends. I turned it a driveway. Every house in this old neighborhood has a different kind of mailbox or slot, and when I first started on this route, there were a few that had seemed like puzzles I'd needed to solve. This house in particular, had stumped me for a few days, until I'd finally knocked on the door and asked them where in the waldough was their mailbox? In the casement surrounding the door, all of which was painted black, was a little hidden flap, invisible unless you knew where to look. The woman who'd answered the door had laughed and apologized as she'd pointed it out. It had been easier to see, she said, before they'd painted, and they kept meaning to let her in the word mail in red. That was a few years ago, and it still hasn't been done. But I don't mind. It was like knowing a password to a secret room. And as I climbed to her front porch, I took her mail from the bag. She'd gotten one of the pretty cream envelopes, and I imagined her wrestling it from her chihuahua, who usually grabbed the letters from the slot as soon as I pushed them through. Today, though there was no barking as I stepped up to the door. They must be out on a walk. Lucky timing, her invitation would not have teeth marks in it. A few houses down, I took another envelope from my pack. This house had a mailbox by the street, but I kept an eye on it to see that it was regularly emptied. The man who lived in this house sometimes had a hard time getting around, and luckily the whole neighborhood watched out for him. On spring cleanup day, his storm windows were taken down, his front porch swept and tidied, and now and then when I climbed his steps, i'd find a bag of groceries left by a neighbor waiting at his door. Today, his mailbox wasn't overly full, maybe just one day's worth of mail. Inside of it, but I was eager to make sure he got his invitation, so I emptied it out and arranged the bundle with the card on top, and turned toward his porch. He surprised me. He was sitting on his porch swing with a glass of iced tea in his hand. He waved me up and patted the spot beside him, suggesting that I take a little break. It was a warm day, and a few minutes rest did sound good, but mostly I wanted to chat about the news I was bringing, so I popped down and handed over the bundle. He nearly set it aside, saying he'd go through it later. When the envelope caught his eye. He looked at me when he read the return address and said, is this what I think it is? Well? Open it up. I haven't actually seen one yet, I'm just the outside. He turned the envelope over in his old hands, carefully tucking his thumb under the flap and popping it open. He slid out a thick card in the same cream color as the envelope, and I leaned in and read it over his shoulder. Pretty engraved calligraphy. The names we knew we'd find a date in September, and a little surprise, the wedding would be at the Inn, the old one on a lake. I imagined that old restored ballroom up on the second floor I'd heard about but hadn't yet seen, full of folks dancing and eating, and I wondered if the animals would be at the ceremony by the lake. We smiled at each other as I pushed up off the seat to continue my route. I pointed out that the invite included a plus one. Did he have a date in mind? He blushed a bit and told me to mine my business, and I chuckled as I hopped back down to the sidewalk. Like I said, I'm not nosy, But when I saw the stack of invites waiting to be sorted this morning, I had admittedly looked through them all. I'd seen one for weather Vane Farm, one for that old house else where the Lilacs grew outside of town, the bakery, the bookshop, the library, a few dozen names I didn't know, and happily one for me I'd be sure to RSBP. These were some very fun stories to write. Like I mentioned earlier, marm and Crumb, as well as Bertie are fan favorites. I've been writing about them since season six of Nothing Much Happens. We're currently on season fourteen, and I've loved expanding their world. I had no intention for their parents to fall in love, but as I worked on these episodes, I realized that they just were. In fact, I've always been quite intentional with how I write about romantic relationships in the Village. I always want folks to be able to imagine themselves in the stories, so when love is in the air, I don't usually use any gender pronouns, and many listeners have noticed and sent and really lovely, heartfelt messages saying how that made them feel like there was a place for them in the village. I want to make it clear that that is intentional. I am a queer woman, and the village has queer residence, just like every neighborhood in the world. If you've ever wondered, as you listen where I stand, know that I emphatically stand on the side of inclusion. I don't care if including everyone means someone else will exclude me. I don't want the good opinion of people like that. Likewise, there are people of all races, disabled and able bodied folks, all genders and all ages. In an audio only medium, sometimes that is difficult to convey, but I want you to know that all of those friends are there now. This first story, raining Cats and Dogs combine some of my favorite things rain thunder, animals, canceled plans, oh, and the promise of potato salad. I love writing dialogue, and most of the time that just doesn't really fit into this kind of work. My stories, as I'm sure you have noticed, are heavy on description and light on chat, but I get to do that. Put in a bit of dialogue in this story as well as a bit of humor, and I had a lot of fun doing it. In Part two, Old Friends, I loved reflecting on how good it feels to be with someone who knows you well. I think friendships are some of the most important relationships we have as we get older. When we're kids, friends are so necessary and they are usually in all the places we go school, the park, or social clubs. But as we age we have to be intentional about making and maintaining our friendships. We don't need them in the same way as we did before, and that is why they can feel so special. So rewarding doesn't happen accidentally. It has been one of my own goals in the last year or so to tend to my friendships and old friends. They become like family. They see your faults and love you still. And here is a great place to remind you that if you love imperfect people, it's only logical to believe that you can be loved without being perfect. Old friends can call you out when you're doing something harmful or just being a jerk in a way that someone you've only known for six months can't. I married my best friend, so I think that love growing out of friendship can be a really lovely way to find your person. The moment I knew this was becoming a love story, when Marmei's mom adds sugar to his coffee, It felt really intimate to know that and just do it, and as I wrote, I thought, oh, something is going on here. Finally, the last story in this episode, RSVP came out about a year after old friends. They didn't rush this love affair, and in fact, there are some stories missing in between that we will bring you at some point. But I loved this way of announcing the upcoming nuptials. I imagined my bedtime story listeners snuggling up and then suddenly realizing what was happening and sitting up in bed with big smiles on their faces. And this story is not finished. We have lots more to share about this little family and that will be coming up in just a few weeks. So till then, thank you for joining us in the village of Nothing Much. Please check your mailbox and be sure to R. S v P.

Stories from the Village of Nothing Much

In the Village of Nothing Much, everyday life is full of glimmers of ordinary magic. From the Inn on 
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