Kathryn Nicolai — Nothing Much Happens

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Bedtime Stories

Stories from the Village

Bedtime Stories

Stories from the Village

Folder: Podcasts

Bedtime Stories

Stories from the Village

Bob Wittersheim

Audio Engineer

Bob Wittersheim (aka BeeDub) is the one who keeps listeners from hearing Kathryn’s dogs bark, her stomach growl, and her laugh and snort when she goofs up reading her wonderful stories. He’s a graduate of the Specs Howard School of Media Arts and has been working as a professional Audio Editor & Engineer for 10 years. He’s also done Sound Design for local theater companies since 2006. He sleeps well and lives very happily with his wife Barbara in Ypsilanti, Michigan with several animals and one teenager.

As the tub filled, I got a fresh towel and wash cloth from the linen closet, my book from the bedside table and a tall glass of water from the kitchen. It’s strange what feels indulgent to you at different stages of your life. When I was younge

The morning had come in like a lion. When I’d pushed aside the curtains in my bedroom, I’d found few inches of fresh snow spread over the yard and more falling fast behind it. The winter aconite with its tiny yellow flowers that had appea

March is wild and ever changing. Sweet mild spring one hour, a howling gale of snow and ice the next. I liked her unpredictability, how unapologetic she was when she turned on a dime and changed herself completely in an afternoon. I’d heard onc

There was a remnant of a label though any print that had been there was long ago faded and washed away. As I rinsed it in the river, I decided that it had held hair tonic, a precursor to our gels and mouses of today and that this particular bottle ha

As I slipped the coin into my pocket, I decided that it had been brought home after a trip abroad years ago, the change from an ice cream bought on the last walk through a plaza before heading to the airport. It had become a token of remembrance for

I’d already had my first find on the river bank. I was mud larking, a term and activity I wasn’t familiar with until my beach combing friends had taught me about it. To mud lark was to search the soft banks beside a body of water for inte

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