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Inhale deeply through your nose and exhale through your mouth. And repeat. Inhale and exhale. Okay, let's start

The first story. Blizzard

The day before we were warned that it would snow all night and all the next day. They said they'd sweep up driveways and lanes, fields and intersections, and that it's best to stay safe at home. We agreed. The whole area and the whole town. Everyone supported this decision. Today we got hit by a snow storm.

I lay in bed in the dead silence of the early morning, thinking of the snow that had covered the ground like a thick blanket, lying on bare tree branches, on the roof above my head, and on everything else you could imagine. nine0010

I didn't move after waking up, I just felt my hands relaxed and warm under the covers, and I thought about how good it was to be a snowy day, and how wonderful it was to know that from last night. I slept soundly and woke up not remembering dreams, feeling that today everything would start from scratch. She slipped her feet into the slippers by the bed, pulled on a long thick sweater, and went to the window. She slowly pushed back the curtain and enjoyed a small spark of anticipation in her stomach as she looked at the snow-covered ground. nine0010

There used to be a lot of snow too. I have seen this a thousand times, reliving the same moment since childhood, how in the morning after a heavy snowfall I stand in my pajamas, pressing my nose against the cold window pane, but to this day it causes me admiration.

The morning light was faint and cast long shadows on the drifts, catching still-falling flakes in its smooth flight, and showing the crisp, untouched surface of the snow that covered the ground outside my old farmhouse. I lingered there for a moment, just watching the falling snow, shielding myself from the cold outside with my hands. Enjoyed a gift from mother nature. nine0010

As a child, snowy days were associated with excitement and running around with cups of chocolate to the warm kitchen and back. For adults, such days bring relief. You are forced to relax, no one expects anything from you.

In a hectic world that sometimes moves too fast, this respite is great medicine. I stocked up on everything I needed the night before: a pound of fresh coffee beans, a long loaf of bread for sandwiches and toast, a bag of muffins and muffins, a bag of winter oranges and grapefruit. nine0010

In the fridge was a jug of fresh juice and a huge pile of green vegetables, and in the pantry were neat rows of homemade canned tomatoes and pickles, jars of beans, bags of rice, bags of crackers and pasta. I looked out the kitchen window and told the snow, "Keep falling, I've got enough for a few weeks. "

I started making coffee, rummaged through the cupcakes, broke off the corner of one and ate it. “If you are going to do this,” I thought, “then you have to do everything right,” and pulled out a waffle iron from the sideboard. After all, that was part of enjoying the snowy day. nine0010

There is finally time to do things that you normally don't, and there's no reason to avoid them. I poured a cup of coffee, took the right ingredients from the shelves and began to mix and beat them, heating the waffle iron. She settled down at the kitchen table with her favorite plate, napkin and fork. I had a flashback of what my aunt did when we were little. She had a special plate in her closet, painted gold in an old fashioned way and didn't match anything else. And, if you did well in an exam, or you had a birthday, or a bad day and you just needed to feel special and cared for, your aunt put her in your place. nine0010

When you sat down, you stood a little taller and felt her warm hand on your shoulder. And dinner turned into a delight.

This memory kept me warm as I poured batter into a hot waffle iron. It hissed, filling the kitchen with aroma, and I smiled. With pancakes and waffles, the rule of three always applies. Don't overcook the first, burn the second, and the third will be perfect.

When the plate was full, I sat with a cup of fresh coffee and a warm jug of maple syrup, enjoying my breakfast, watching the snow fall. I peeled the orange and ate the slices slowly between sips, setting the rind aside, thinking I'd add it later to a simmering pot with cinnamon sticks, vanilla and a couple of cloves. Let it simmer all day to fill the house with a sweet aroma and soften the dry air with steam. I rinsed my plate, tidied up the kitchen and began to walk from window to window, looking out into the street. nine0010

In the evening I brought firewood and put it in the fireplace: now it was ready to give warmth. She lit a long match and held it up to the paper and kindling, watching it burn. She added a few crumpled newspapers to the fire and squatted by the fire for a couple of minutes until her face and fingers warmed up.

Now the wind was blowing and I watched small swirling spirals of snow appear and disappear in the air. Maybe later I'll pack up and go for a long walk through the fields and woods, and then reward myself with a cup of something hot; but now I was not going to leave my cozy place. I imagined laying out a puzzle on the table and thinking about it while a movie was playing in the background, or reading for hours, or lying in a hot bath until the skin on my fingers wrinkled. nine0010

But first, having had my fill after breakfast and warming up by the fireplace, I stretched out on the sofa, covered my legs with a warm blanket, and felt that it would be best to close my eyes, listen to the crackling of logs, and forget myself in a long winter sleep.

Sweet dreams.

Second story. Night outside with a dog

I heard the soft rustle of dog paws when my pet stopped by the bed. My ears were already programmed for it. I heard him sigh at night or toss and turn in bed. And when he got up and quietly stood next to me, I heard it too. He is already an old dog with a gray muzzle, and his movements are slow and careful. nine0010

Our walks got a little shorter, but today he saw a squirrel running along the pavement and suddenly found some youthful canine energy in his limbs. He pulled me along, following the path. Fortunately, the squirrel was not caught, but he enjoyed the chase. He barked as she ran up the tree and teased him with the language of little animals who know how fast they are. I stroked his head and told him that he tried his best. Shouldn't we go to the park? I reached out to put my hand on it and lowered my feet to the floor, sleepy but understanding. nine0010

As he got older, he sometimes had to leave the house in the middle of the night. I didn't mind at all, wrapped myself in a dressing gown, slipped my feet into my slippers, and we went down the stairs to the backyard. Most of the time, I just let it out and came back a few minutes later, but as I opened the door this time, I felt something in the smell of the air pull me outside. It was pitch dark, deep night, about three o'clock. There came those weeks when the weather tossed between autumn and winter.

The cold air opened my eyes and I lifted them up to see a clear sky lit by stars and a moon that was barely more than half visible. Growing moon, I thought. After the dog returned to me, we stood very still and just listened. Summer nights are filled with the buzzing of beetles, the croaking of frogs, and some unreasonable buzzing that comes from nowhere and is simply present in the air. Maybe it's the fecundity of growing, swaying plants, or just the trace of life left after a day in the sun, but it certainly sounds loud. nine0010

There is a special sound that can only be heard in the middle of the night just before winter, a shocking silence. Not a single car passed by, no one was visible except us, and only the faint rustle of a very light wind stirred in the bare branches high above us. The earth was asleep, its creatures curled up in their burrows, preparing for the new season. The bulbs were deep under mulch and dirt, only dreaming now of the vibrant pinks, purples and yellows they would turn into in spring. We stood still for a while, and I let the cold air tingle my fingers and move up my neck, knowing that I would soon be back in a warm bed. nine0010

I took a few very deep breaths, and under the spicy scent of dry leaves, something clean and clear appeared in the air. I thought it might be snow. Tomorrow these clear skies may be thick with clouds. And if we get up again in the middle of the night, which we most likely will, we will be standing under the first falling flakes.

I leaned over and slowly kissed my old man on the top of his head, and then we turned and walked back into the house. He stopped to drink water. I drank too and slowly walked up the stairs back to the bedroom. He turned a few times and sat down on the large soft cushion. I covered the dog with a blanket and tucked it in from all sides. In a few seconds he will be asleep. We should all learn this from dogs: they can go from awake to deep sleep instantly and wake up just as easily. nine0010

I took off my bathrobe and slippers and pulled back the heavy blanket on the bed, slipped onto the sheets and straightened the covers. I felt the cold gradually leave my body until the tips of my toes were warm again. I thought about the change of season, the gentle breeze outside, and how grateful I was that the dog had taken me along. It's the magic that our friends give us: they take us to places we wouldn't go on our own and show us things we would otherwise miss.

I sighed slowly, rolled over on my side, pulling the blanket over my shoulders, and felt myself sinking into sleep, drawing part of today into my daydreams, falling asleep. The squirrel swept its tail high up in the tree. The leash was taut because the dog suddenly wanted to run. Growing Moon and sleeping Earth. Probability of first snow. nine0010

Yes, I'll probably wake up again tomorrow night, and the day after tomorrow, and so on, but it made me happy.

Sweet dreams.

The third story. Winter day outside the window

From the window I watched what was probably the last big snowfall of this winter.

Snow lay in even layers on the lawns and rooftops of our block. I knew we all wanted spring now, but we could be coaxed into spending another day admiring the quiet charm of falling flakes, squeezing snowballs with gloves and making snowmen, sledding down the hillside in the park. nine0010

I didn't know if I wanted to go sledding, but I was ready to watch it from the cozy warmth of the living room, warming my feet with thick socks to the whistle of the kettle boiling in the kitchen. Watch how a small flock of neighboring children, wrapped from head to toe, dragged sleds and ice-boats on thin ropes. Even in boots and insulated thick trousers, they somehow skipped forward and called their friends and younger sisters to speed up their pace. The sledding hill was waiting for them.

As a child, there was one in the neighborhood, and I remembered with what delight we rushed from it, crammed into the sleigh two or three of us, holding on to their worn-out reins and each other, and shouted, picking up speed. We rolled over or crashed into a pile of snow, jumped up, shook snowflakes from our faces and raced back up.

Sometimes it was cold or someone's parents drove us back into the house to keep warm. We took off our wet coats and hats, put them on the radiator so that they would dry faster, and sometimes, without waiting, put them on again and raced up the hill. nine0010

I went into the kitchen, poured boiling water from the kettle into a cup, and tossed the tea bag in, shaking it slowly as I watched the reddish-brown color of the rooibos flow like ink into the water. She went to the sideboard and took out a pack of cookies, bought the day before.

Pushing a cart down the aisles of the grocery store, I was lost in the day's worries when I saw a familiar orange pack of cookies I hadn't eaten since I was a kid. It looked like windmills, light brown, with almond flecks scattered across the dough. nine0010

In the blink of an eye, I forgot about the confusion of thoughts that did not let me go, and reached for the pack on the shelf. The inscription was exactly the same as it had been when I was a child, thick and slightly smeared, as if it had been printed on an old-fashioned press. The company logo was a greased windmill and a family name, and when I turned the pack over, I saw that the cookies were still being made in a small town up north.

Suddenly, I felt immense gratitude that this delicacy had ended up here, on the shelf of a nearby store. She smoothed out the wrapper and peered through the cellophane at the cookies. It wasn't perfectly shaped, each a little irregular, some darker, thicker, or paler. They immediately migrated to my cart, and since then I have been looking forward to the moment to open them for tea. nine0010

I ate these cookies at my grandparents' house. Looking back, I couldn't remember trying them anywhere else. She took out a plate, placed a stack of windmills on it, and carried them back to the chair by the window. Sitting comfortably and tucking her legs under her, she put the blanket on her knees and took one of the cookies. I brought it to my nose and inhaled the sweet aroma.

There was some spice in it - I smelled the smell of cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon and a faint cherry-sweet aroma of almonds. I took a bite, the cookies were a little crumbly and dry, but the taste immediately brought me back to my grandparents' kitchen. Their house was small, with a tiny front porch, and nestled in a cozy spot among tall, old trees. Their shadows lurked in every corner, and the rooms were filled with paintings and toys that had once belonged to my father. But in the daytime the house was bright and full of sun. nine0010

Grandmother hid the “windmills” in the back of the cupboard, covering the cookies with a jar of flour so that grandfather would not accidentally stumble upon them. She and I would put a pack of biscuits on the table and each one would dip them into their drink, Grandmother into coffee and I into cocoa, and slowly ate it while watching the squirrels running along the fence.

Maybe I inherited a penchant for quiet contemplation from her. Looking out over the snow-covered yard, I raised my cup to share my memories of our time in the kitchen with her, then washed down the cookies with a slow sip of tea. A few more guys ran to their friends on the hill, and mittens dangled from strings on their wrists. I saw how the snow lay flat on the bare branches of a plane tree in a neighbor's yard and the slanting peach-orange rays of the setting sun spilled across the sky. Yes, I will be happy for spring when it comes, but I was happy to stay at home and watch the snow fall. nine0010

Sweet dreams.

More cozy stories, meditations to relieve stress throughout the day, recipes and crafts in Katherine Nicolai's book Nothing Special Happens. Cozy stories for restful sleep. Reclaim your restful sleep and all the joys that come with it.

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Nothing special is happening. Cozy stories for restful sleepCatherine Nikolay

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weird sleep app entries

In today's world, you can control everything, every second of your waking and sleeping. Numerous sleep apps will break your dream into pieces: cut into phases, determine the ideal wake-up time and record your snoring on audio. But are you ready for what you can hear on the record the next morning? nine0010

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What are you doing?

Reddit user Jennie shared her story with the Sleep As Android app she uses to kick her sleep habits. nine0088 One morning, Jenny listened to the audio that her app made at night. On the recording, Jenny asked in her dream, "What are you doing?" and suddenly heard an unintelligible answer: "Nothing." But the voice did not belong to the sleeping woman! It was a completely unfamiliar male voice. When Jenny posted it online, other Reddit users heard something else: "I'm dead" or "That's them". But whatever it is, it's not what you want to hear at night.

33 records

In 2016, a young woman decided to find out why she wakes up at the same time at night and decided to listen to her recordings made using the Pillow Sleep Cycle Alarm Clock.

“I have 33 audio tracks. Most of them are just the rustling of a blanket or light snore, but one, taken at 4:42 in the morning, scared the hell out of me. You can hear me mumbling, but then a distinct male voice is heard. I am a woman, as you already understood. He mutters something while I sniffle in my sleep, and at the end of the 10-second recording, he says very clearly: "I ... AM (I ... AM)"

Unfamiliar languages ​​

An anonymous visitor to one of the mysticism and conspiracy forums said he used Dream Talk Recorder to find out if he talks in his sleep. Found out: says. And if most of the audio was just unintelligible mumbling, then the rest sounded quite distinct, like speech in a foreign language. The only problem, the user writes, is that I don't speak any other language than English.

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Help!

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And in this recording, a man from Canada is just asking for help again and again. The absence of any other context, comments under the entry, makes such audio only scarier.

Slurping guest

Reddit user Worchester_St said that due to chronic fatigue, he decided to install a sleep app that also records sound if a person snores or rolls over from side to side. When the man began to study the audio files, he noticed that among them there were several with the title "Dream Talk". The application failed to decipher them, and then the guy decided to listen to them. Instead of the usual grunts or single words, there was a strange wet champing sound. There were several such records - and they all appeared at 02:33 on different days. nine0010

The guy suspected that the matter was in the house - for example, it could be ventilation noise. He decided to check his guess and waited until half past three without going to bed. The sounds not only repeated themselves, but the door to the bedroom slowly opened. After that, Worchester grabbed a baseball bat and rushed to search all the rooms. And in the kitchen he saw a black figure, half hidden in the laundry room. The man took a picture, then ran to his bedroom and called the police.

Law enforcement officers did not find any strangers in his house, but the photo with a strange silhouette was preserved, and the owner of the phone is still sure: he did not dream about the otherworldly guest and did not imagine. nine0010

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Please, pic

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And this recording looks like Sims characters talking, although the girl has a completely demonic laugh. In places we can make out short phrases like “Rice, please, rice!” or “Sorry,” but most of the tape is complete rubbish. And the author also admits that she went to the kitchen a couple of times for chips and woke up in an embrace with a pack, having no idea where it came from.

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