Dream feeds baby whisperer

Tips From 'The Baby Whisperer'

The Early Show

By John Esterbrook


For many parents, the idea of putting a newborn baby on a schedule might seem a little hard to believe. But many experts say establishing a routine for infants is imperative for both good eating and good sleeping habits.

Melinda Blau, co-author of "The Baby Whisperer Solves All of Your Problems." points out that what works for adults is just as effective for infants.

"You get up, inspect the morning and have your coffee. If something jars that routine, it's upsetting to you. It's the same with babies. They like the safety and predictability of a routine," Blau told The Early Show co-anchor Hannah Storm. "The other important part about a routine is that it lets the mother or father know where the baby is in his or her day. So if you have a little baby and you fed him and 15 minutes later he's crying, you know that he's not crying because he's hungry. Something else is going on."

Blau suggests that the best time to start a newborn on a routine is as soon as they come home from the hospital.

"You may not be able to do it" Blau said. "I mean, it is a goal that you go for, and what we advise in the book is that you keep track and know when you fed the baby, how long the feed is."

A discussion of feeding provides an opportunity to introduce a Baby Whisperer acronym to help new parents establish a routine: EASY.

And after "Eat" comes "Activity." Conventional wisdom is that most babies tend to fall right to sleep after eating.

"That's not good. You don't think any of it now, but what about when the baby is four months old and only wants to … only can go to sleep after a bottle or being on the breast. That's what we call accidental parenting because you set up a pattern," Blau said. "Instead, start from the beginning teaching the baby to be essentially on the same schedule we're on. We get up in the morning and have an activity. ... They do it four times a day."

Next is "Sleep," and Blau suggests that it's better if babies don't sleep too long.

"Especially in the beginning. Babies don't know the difference between day and night," Blau said. "They are on a 24-hour clock. So if you get a baby home from the hospital and the baby … the mother says, 'Oh, he's just so great. He slept five hours.' Well, is she wondering why he's up all night?"

Blau said a baby shouldn't sleep for more than two hours during the day.

The final piece in the EASY acronym is "You."

Blau says parents need to take a little time out for themselves.

"The thing is you sleep when they sleep. It's imperative," Blau said.

Baby Whisperer has an interesting philosophy for the end of the day. It's called cluster feeding. An example would be feeding a baby at 6 p.m. and then instead of waiting several hours, feeding the baby again at 8 p.m.

Blau credited her co-author, Tracy Hogg, who passed away after the book was written, with coming up with the concept.

"Her philosophy was you tank babies up," Blau said. "By giving them more in their little bellies before they take a nap, they're more likely to sleep longer stretches."

Another idea advocated by Baby Whisperer is what they call a "dream feed."

"And we call it the dream feed because you don't actually wake the baby, Blau said. "You basically take the baby out of the crib and give it a breast or bottle and don't even change it unless it's really soiled and then put them back to sleep."

Some people might argue this is more convenient for parents than it is for the baby. That allowing the baby to sleep through the night maybe doesn't benefit the baby.

"Sleeping through the night is a misnomer," Blau said. "Babies … you are lucky if they sleep five or six hours. It's not sleeping through the night. It's for the baby because the baby then gets on the same schedule as the parent and everyone is less stressed out. And, let's face it, a mother or father who is not tired is going to be a better mother or father."

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First published on February 20, 2006 / 11:35 AM

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The Basics of a Dreamfeed for Helping Baby Sleep

by valplowman

The basics of a dreamfeed. The things you need to know to help the dreamfeed effectively work for your baby to sleep through the night.

The dreamfeed is a helpful tool to help your baby sleep through the night when you, the parent, are also sleeping through the night.

Baby needs so many feedings in a 24 hour period, and the dreamfeed is a way to make sure another feeding happens during your day so fewer feedings need to happen during your night.

The term “dreamfeed” comes from the book Secrets of the Baby Whisperer (affiliate link) by Tracy Hogg.

A dreamfeed is simply a late feeding that starts typically between 10-11 PM. The baby is already in bed, but you go in and feed baby one last time before heading off to bed yourself.

The idea here is that baby gets a feeding in just before you go to sleep. When baby starts sleeping 7-8 hours straight without eating, these 7-8 hours then fall between 10-6, giving you a good night stretch to sleep yourself.

The dreamfeed is not necessary. If you would rather feed baby and put her to bed in the 7-8 PM hour and then head to bed yourself, go for it. The downside to not doing a dreamfeed is that it will likely be that the 7-8 hour stretch of sleep between night feedings will come between 7 PM-2 AM instead of 10 PM-6 AM.

If you are okay with this, there is nothing wrong with it. What you have to do is be prepared so when you hear stories of the 8 week old sleeping through the night, from 10-6, and yours is still waking up around 2 am, you can not be discouraged.

You can remind yourself that your baby is also sleeping well and there is nothing to worry about.

Post Contents

  • Does a Dreamfeed Work for All Babies?
  • What You Need to Know About the Dreamfeed
  • Dreamfeed Time
  • Dreamfeed Location
  • Dreamfeed How
  • Dreamfeed Ages
  • Dreamfeed Conclusion
  • Related Posts to Help Your Dreamfeed

Does a Dreamfeed Work for All Babies?

In general, a dreamfeed works well for most babies. Some babies take work to get to take the dreamfeed initially.

I had babies who needed a lot of time and effort put into establishing the dreamfeed before it was really a benefit.

For me, it was something I wanted to establish. I wanted to be able to stay up past baby’s bedtime to spend time with my husband. With effort, I established a dreamfeed with those babies.

Some babies do not respond well to the dreamfeed. Some won’t wake up for it and some sleep more soundly through the night without it.

Always do what is best for your baby; however, also be sure the dreamfeed legitimately does not work and the problems is not with your implementation of the dreamfeed.

Some babies are very particular about certain aspects of the dreamfeed, so you might be able to tweak one thing and get a great stretch of sleep in the night.

What You Need to Know About the Dreamfeed

Here are the basics of a dreamfeed to help you get baby sleeping through the night.

Dreamfeed Time

The time of the dreamfeed is usually between 10-11 PM. If you get the timing too late, you start to run into disrupting natural circadian rhythms, so experiment with times within that hour. I have had babies who were very sensitive to the timing of the dreamfeed. For example, 10:35 meant the baby slept well that night, but 10:30 or 10:45 meant a fitful night of sleep was ahead of me as well as an early morning waking. I literally set an alarm on my phone so I could get the timing right for that baby.

Please note the time of the dreamfeed is between 10-11 PM. Do not start 11 or later unless you are fully positive your baby needs to go later. Try that 10 PM hour before moving into the 11 PM hour.

To learn more about circadian rhythm and how it impacts sleep patterns, read this post.

Dreamfeed Location

I did the dreamfeed in the baby’s room. I kept the light as dim as possible (I always had my husband install a dimmer in the baby’s room if there wasn’t one there. You could also use a lamp). I would go in and close the door after me so the room could stay dark and quiet with no distractions.

Dreamfeed How

Ideally, you will get baby, feed baby while baby is still drowsy, and put baby back to bed all without ever waking baby up. Do try to burp your baby even if you are worried about waking baby up. You don’t want baby getting an uncomfortable gas bubble and wake up in pain later in the night.

Younger babies, like newborns, might need to be woken up more for the dreamfeed to get them to eat anything. You might need to unswaddle your baby to wake baby up enough, but you might find unswaddling wakes baby up too much.

Many people wonder if they should do a diaper change or not at the dreamfeed. I change a diaper for newborns. In older babies, I don’t typically change the diaper unless there is, of course, a bowel movement.

If your baby is not responding well to the dreamfeed, you might either not be waking baby up enough or you might be waking baby up too much. This was my process for a newborn’s dreamfeed:

  1. Get baby up
  2. Unswaddle baby
  3. Feed baby half the feeding. You might have to work to get baby to wake up. Here are some tips on feeding sleepy newborns
  4. Burp baby
  5. Change baby’s diaper
  6. Give baby gas medicine or gripe water if needed
  7. Reswaddle baby
  8. Feed the other half of the feeding
  9. Burp baby
  10. Put baby back in bed. Baby does not need to be asleep, but I did make sure baby was relaxed as I explain in the article The Four S’s (I also show it on video).

This pattern enables you to wake baby up more initially to eat since newborns are typically very sleepy in general. It also gets baby’s diaper changed. Then it gets baby all cozy again so she can go right to sleep when the dreamfeed is all done.

For an older baby who wakes up easily, you might leave baby swaddled the whole time. You might start off by unswaddling and changing the diaper right away, then reswaddling before you start to feed baby (the risk here is baby messes the diaper after you start the feeding).

If your baby keeps the dreamfeed until baby is older, you might not change the diaper or unswaddle at all. I had two babies who kept the dreamfeed until 6/7 months old, and as they got to be older, I just went in, fed, and put baby back to bed (it is worth noting neither baby was still swaddled by that older age).

Dreamfeed Ages

The dreamfeed is ideal between newborn and about 4 months old. Most of my babies held on to a dreamfeed beyond 4 months old. Hogg suggests keeping the dreamfeed until 8 months old. Go with what works best for your individual baby. Once your baby is ready to drop the dreamfeed, see  Dropping the “Dream Feed.”

Dreamfeed Conclusion

The dreamfeed can be something that really helps you to get good sleep at night so you can function during the day. It can take effort to establish it, but it is well worth your efforts! For more information, see my post on Dreamfeed FAQs.

Related Posts to Help Your Dreamfeed

  • How to Feed a Sleepy Newborn
  • Circadian Rhythm Explained and How It Impacts Sleep
  • Gentle Sleep Training: The Four S’s
  • Dropping the “Dream Feed”
  • When To Stop the Dreamfeed
  • When to Stop the Dreamfeed
  • Dreamfeed FAQs
  • Dream Feed and Babywise

interpretation of dreams about ducks according to the dream books of Miller, Vanga, Freud, Loff

There are many different dream books for interpreting dreams - from Vanga and Freud to modern ones. Some believe that ducks dream of good news or a big journey, others interpret such dreams as a harbinger of success, and still others that your loved ones need help and support. Why did you dream about these particular birds, no one will say the exact reason. But in order to at least approximately understand what this means, try to remember everything in the smallest detail. Let's tell you what ducks dream of according to the dream book of Miller, Vanga, Freud and others. And our expert will add what such a dream means from the point of view of psychology. nine0003

Ducks in Miller's dream book

Everyone will like the interpretation of sleep with ducks according to Miller's dream book. According to him, it is said that birds mostly dream only for good. But which one depends on what kind of duck it was and where it was located.

So, to see a duck swimming in clear clear water means that interesting and happy journeys await you, namely a trip to the sea. If you have been postponing your vacation for a long time until better times, then now is the time to decide. It's a sign! nine0003

If the ducks are white and they walk around the yard, that's not bad either. Expect well-being in the house and a big harvest!

If you were hunting ducks in a dream, it means that changes are coming soon. But if you managed to shoot the bird, then be careful - envious people want to interfere in your plans. Pay attention to your surroundings and be vigilant.

Have you seen ducks flying? Wonderful! Things on the personal front will go uphill - the free can get married / marry, the family is waiting for the birth of children. nine0003

Ducks in Freud's dream book

Sigmund Freud believed that seeing a duck in a dream is always about love relationships. If you dreamed of a bird, and especially during a period of problems with a partner, then do not hope that he will change for the better and treat you the way you dream. The dream should become a sign to you that it is better to break off relations with this person.

If you shoot ducks in a dream, then soon you will find strange behavior from your loved one. His act will show how he really feels about you. nine0003

Freud, like many others, thought that seeing flying ducks meant travel or a trip. But here, again, it's about the personal. In this adventure, you can learn something very interesting about your loved one.

Ducks in Vanga's dream book

What does the duck promise from Vanga's dream book? Interpretations are different, much depends on the circumstances.

A duck with her offspring says that difficult times and difficult circumstances await a person. He may find himself in an unpleasant situation, yield to the enemy. Such a dream is like a sign to abandon dubious deals and be on the alert. nine0003 Some believe that ducks dream of good news or a big journey, others interpret such dreams as a harbinger of success, and still others that your loved ones need help and support. Photo: pixabay.com

Ducks bathing in clear water - for a trip, and if a duck walks around the yard - for big money, a good deal and profit. If you see bird hunting, then you are moving in the right direction, success awaits you at the end of the path.

If ducks fly away in a dream, this may mean that you are missing an opportunity. nine0003

Ducks in the Mayan dream book

According to the Mayan dream book, seeing a duck in a dream can be both good and vice versa. If you eat cooked duck in a dream, it means that big money and good deals await you. Get ready for abundance. Don't miss the opportunity!

If in a dream you are butchering a duck, this may be a sign that you will be disappointed in your work.

Ducks in the dream book of Nostradamus

Nostradamus in terms of interpreting the dream with the duck was brief - you are in a confused state. nine0003

Ducks in the Modern Dream Book

According to the modern dream book, to see ducks swimming in a pond is a journey to the sea. Hunting for them is a change in plans. Maybe they planned one thing, and then abruptly changed course.

If ducks walk around the yard, it means that guests will visit you soon. Be hospitable and friendly with them, meet with warmth.

If in a dream you shot a bird, be careful, it is possible that ill-wishers will interfere in your affairs.

Seeing flying ducks is good. You are waiting for a happy and healthy relationship, home and children.

If a duck is in a dream with ducklings, you will soon reach heights in your business or profession. Seeing a white duck - to prosperity, wealth and abundance. If you see dead ducks, difficulties await you. However, do not get hung up on this, you will overcome them, the main thing is not to give up.

Expert comment

Our expert Veronika Tyurina, Interpersonal Relations Consultant and Psychologist , will tell you why ducks dream from the point of view of psychology:

“To see ducks walking around the yard in a dream is good news regarding your family and immediate environment. If the duck is alone and looks like it is lost, someone close to you, perhaps a person from the past with whom you had a spiritual connection, needs your help. Flip through your notebook or look in the "Contacts" section on your phone.

If in a dream a roast duck is served at the table, this is a harbinger of the success of your idea or project. The help of higher people is not excluded. nine0003

To be hunting in a dream and see how someone shoots ducks is a warning: external forces can harm your loved ones (trouble with a colleague at work, a small accident). Be ready to help and assist.

Shoot ducks on the hunt yourself, or images of ducks in the shooting gallery - your position on a certain issue will seriously injure one of your loved ones. You categorically do not accept what is important to him, hence the conflict and misunderstanding. It is worth thinking about what is really valuable to you. nine0003



The sister was adamant. Fortunately, now she is only a voice on the phone - I can easily turn it off.

- Yur, stop pulling. Go to the Housing Office already.

Today, after a night of rain, the concrete slabs of the neighboring house were covered with dark spots, and the woman from the window of the fifth floor - opposite mine, such a bright spot - flickered and disappeared, shielding herself from other people's views with curtains. In this very house, on the other side, in the basement, there is a door to the Housing Office: an old one, covered with black leatherette, with the Emblem of the Face pinned in the center. nine0003

- Ah-ah! Who am I talking to at all, huh?! — my sister is five years younger than me and a couple of lives wiser.

— You need to prove yourself. Now what? September! How are you going to live?

- Ir, thanks for the gift, I will go fishing, I will. Promise. Later.

- Grishka is calling to the dacha. You will see the nephews. Forgot about them? Uncle . ..

- He came. In winter…

— Since then… They are head and shoulders taller than you! It's time for me to feed the men. And you need it on Monday... Tomorrow! Go to the Housing Office! What kind of kindergarten, huh? What are you first? Last? What did you get?! nine0003

- I promise.

— It’s crazy… Otherwise… You understand, don’t you?…— switching to a whisper, — Do you understand how they are being treated now? - she was tired of the role of "the main one in the family", - Yurka, don't go crazy, okay?

There was a breeze from the cracks in the wooden frame of the window. The peeled-off masking tape swelled like a sail, buzzed, strained, but could not move anything.

— With them… With me… So tell me — how is it, now, in the ZhEK? Well, give me a hint or something ... Is it impossible? ... A cast, they say, is mo-o-mental-a-al. And they give a day off ...

- I have to go... Go! Tomorrow. And call later. Call! Understood? ... There is nothing terrible there. Everybody! — and hung up.

- bring the boys ... - did not have time.

It was damp in the autumn cold in the apartment. The clothes didn't keep me warm. Heating, of course, is not yet available anywhere in the area, and there is no electricity anywhere in my apartment. Only weak currents in a wired telephone. They, from the ZhEK, they have the opportunity to contact me... or... or... I have the right to call myself. So many things at home - out of order, in disarray. On the table is a mug with a sunken tea bag in a black, thick liquid - a neighbor borrowed boiling water yesterday, but today he didn’t open the door. Maybe he's not at home. Maybe the whole house has moved out. And that woman is a flashing bright speck? There is no light in her window - she probably just left. The wind pushes occasional raindrops against the window pane. You can keep busy counting: one - on the left, one more, the third - above, to the left, here - below, below. It just gets boring quickly. You can take a book. Haven't read for a long time. There, on the table, there is a notebook covered with dust, I don’t remember where the fountain pen is. Trouble. I will remember my dreams: word by word. But how to restore their Face in memory? nine0003

Ninth dream

In this dream: my son is fifteen. He doesn't know about me. I am at the very edge of what is visible. The son is standing in an empty hall: the white floor turns into white walls, and they strive far, far upward, violating boundaries and perspective. Don't go out. The son is waiting for something important. It is important. It appears on the wall: in front and behind, to the left and to the right of us... It seems close, but no matter how far you go, you won't get there. The son is waiting: to become equal, to become a part. It is New, it appears on the wall as the outline of a face. It — the Face — is filled with colors and, acquiring volume, chooses feminine features for itself. The son looks only at the Face. He sees and does not recognize, sees and does not remember. Impossible. It is always changing. Millions of people reflected in this outline: will flash in Him - now, soon, or already - never. The face comes to life. The face turns to the teenager: "Are you ready?" With whose voice does It speak to him? Whose? I, today, I am near. I am at the very edge of what is visible. I would like to take my son with me, but there is nowhere. nine0114


On the screen of the broken tube TV again the old movie: a reflection of me barely noticeable in the dimly lit apartment. When his parents passed away, no one turned him on for several years. I used to stack books on it. The apartment is full of forgotten and unread books. They also have a lot of dust on them. I look at myself, sitting on the sofa, looking at me. It's better to leave. Log off. Go. So, rather, now. Necessary. To the bridge. To the river. And tomorrow - at the Housing Office. Maybe it's better today... To the bridge. And… Ridiculous. No. Just walk. But outside: it's raining with might and main. Where did I put my apartment keys? Search now... Okay. Be in time before dark, don't drown in the mud and don't break your legs. Yes OK. Break. And tomorrow is not... Nonsense... Tomorrow I'm going to the housing office. While looking for spare keys in the closet, I found my mother's hairbrush. Mom didn’t remember about her lately. Her boyish hairstyle somehow immediately became familiar. I promised her: "I'll be back in a couple of days." And her cropped, with gray hair, the back of her head did not answer me. I went out. Sometimes I go out at the wrong time. There are so many forgotten things in the closet: first you leave them as a sign of loyalty to a person, time or your dog... You leave them, putting them where it is difficult to lose them. And it's so easy to forget. nine0003

There was a dog leash in the bottom drawer. This is from the Lord. The best dog in the world. The best - for a fourteen-year-old me. We lived with him for four years. But after all, for the Lord, by his standards - almost thirty years. Two canine centuries ago he was gone. I wasn't around.

I will return the comb to its place.

There was a knock on the door. No, those from the Housing Office would have called in a day. So they say... They knocked again. I'm in the room, I listen to the knock. I don't get up. I'm listening. Now, silence. I want right now: this whole room, these things, these books, this air, all this dust and even the old TV - pull it off like a blanket, fold it many, many times and take it with you, hiding it in your pocket, and only with this and go out to door. And then, wherever I am: get my house, lay it out, breathe its air, find unread. nine0003

I'm going to the door. How can I walk those four meters: deliberately loudly and as if in a hurry? He caught, dropped a down jacket from a hanger. They won't hear. And broke the loop.

...and every time the Lord and I helped each other out: and when I, as a teenager, dragged away from him a fighting dog obedient to his master; and when the Lord, in a snowstorm, in the bare steppe, came across a drunkard, when he, with his silent stubbornness, did not allow me to leave him. For him, all this, probably, was seven times more important than for me. We grew up together. He always turned out to be older. Lord, you are desperately missed... No one, do you hear? No one to help out…

I open the door. While my eyes are getting used to the bright light of the entrance: I hear the elevator closing. I looked: there was no one on the site. On the floor is a crumpled note. Uneven handwriting on a notebook sheet: “How is your mental balance? And generally speaking".

“…How is your mental balance?…”

Catch up and… ask: “So what are you talking about? It's not clear to me. What are you talking about...”

... and the friend’s leash was also preserved: all two dog centuries it lay on the mezzanine, tidied up, forgotten. Last winter - needed again. I was walking by the river that day. He, Mongrel-with-no-name, met along the way. I walked along the virgin snow, sinking to the waist, he followed me, drowning in the snow up to his ears. He was fascinated by the difficulties I created for myself. And I ... I, for almost the entire time that he was walking the same road with me, thought about that nasty moment when I had to let him know that I was going on alone. “I’m going home,” I told him, “and you, Mongrel-without-a-name, you stay.” My time is up. I left the shore. He took me to the stairs leading to the city. Looked at me, turned away. He stayed by the river. I returned to my place, ashamed of Mongrel-with-no-name. He ran into the apartment, climbed onto the mezzanine, was lucky - he found a leash. In a hurry, he returned to the shore. Didn't find anyone there...

Now, in a dark corridor, the keys have been found. I take the leash with me. I go to the river, I go under the drizzling rain. I put the note in my pocket.

Second dream

In today's dream, my son is twelve, and I remember myself being five years old. Kindergarten canteen. It's just me and the teacher. She sternly looks at the boy ready to cry and his untouched cold lunch.

— Yura, these meatballs, hmm. .. These hedgehogs, no matter what they are called, you need to eat and go to everyone for an hour. Everybody is sleeping already. Come on boy. Eat. nine0114

I hid my hands and stared into the void:

— Ma-r-r-gar-r-ita Gr-ri-goryevna, I won’t. I will not eat hedgehogs.

- Yurochka, these are cutlets, just ... They are so ... Klavdia Anatolyevna, so that ..., named her. She joked! she persuaded me, twisting a forgotten waffle towel in her hands.

On one of the large walls, over there at the corner of the dining room, closer to the locker room, smiling good-natured hedgehogs are depicted in oils, carrying green apples on their needle-like backs. And now, peering into three cutlets, I vividly imagined those good hedgehogs ...

- Ma-r-r-gar-r-ita Gr-ri-goryevna, I won't.

- That's it. Breaking the rules! Everybody! Everybody! Everyone has already eaten. Everyone liked it! Let's! You will like it too!

Time passed. The dining room grew inexorably in all directions. And I became smaller. Even less. More...

— So, Yura, you have five minutes. I'll go now and check the group. And when I return, there should be an empty plate. Do you understand?! Or you will sit like this until the evening! She threw down the towel and went to check on the sleep of the others. nine0114

My hands are already on the table. But it is still far from the fork. Our cook Claudia Anatolyevna looked out of the kitchen. Hanging over the dispensing table, holding back her laughter, she looked first at me, then met the gaze of the teacher passing by, shook her head and began to prepare an afternoon snack. Five minutes have already begun to melt, to run drop by drop into a dirty stream that is carried away to no one knows where. The dining room continued to grow, while I, and the lonely plate in front of me, rapidly decreased. I sat in silence. One. How many minutes have passed? I did not know. Now the fork is in my hand. I broke the first cutlet. Two more and a well-deserved sleep awaits me. The son, who is now twelve, the son looks at the five-year-old me, finishing my cold lunch. My son smiles contemptuously at me, a forty-year-old. nine0114


It seemed that when leaving the elevator: someone hesitated at the entrance door. She, that door, is capricious if you don't know how to approach it, if you don't know where to press. Hesitating - didn't know. Stranger. But he did his best, squeezed in, pushed through his body. I didn’t have time to ask the back of his head and his back: the piece of iron immediately slammed shut behind him with a full click of a metal tongue.

“… And in general”

There is another note in my mailbox. Just don't get it. Keys are a problem. Where are they issued? In the housing office? ... Back-and-back of the head, did you decide similarly: to-talk, to-ask, to-..., to-..., to-...? Sorry, I don't read. Sorry, back-and-back, I'm going to the bridge. Not yet. I... I am in a hurry to the river: to sit under the old shed, overlooking the other bank, with the noise of the city spreading over the water. A cigarette would. No no. I quit smoking. The third day. No. Tomorrow is the third. Tomorrow. I don’t suffer much, but maybe then I can buy chocolate, chew it? Gorky. Better. I will buy for the last. I'll ask for the key tomorrow. The shop by the road is a log extension with carved architraves to a settled house. A house that has been staring at passers-by for a year now with the eyes of broken window frames starving for its residents. Behind him are garages, garages: "Come on by, come on quick." Over the years, the foundation of the store has sunk deep into the ground, the roof has sagged, and the doorway at the entrance has slanted and somehow the whole thing has shrunk. Even I, a “meter with a cap”, want to bow my head when I go inside. The air inside is thick, heavy: beer and fish. I'll be patient. The floors creaked, the boards sagged and squelched underfoot. On the counter, on the loaves of bread, cockroaches were scampering. From the State Information Screen suspended from the ceiling, a Face was looking at me. And the evening news sounded from the Screen: "... the world today is mired in lies, we consider it necessary ...". From the side of the cash register, a short bald man was staring at me with money and a check of vodka in his hands. And behind the counter, knocking out a check, she looked at me - a girl, in a tight white dressing gown, with a green frill with white polka dots. She has incredibly scarlet lips. I'll call her Alla. The peasant asked for three hundred grams of boiled sausage, but he only had enough for a hundred. Allochka lazily cut off the pink layer of Doctor's. The bald man seemed to rejoice at the appearance of free ears. nine0003

- Look, ah! What have we come to! Your fucking…” he nodded in the direction of the Screen, “What a country, bastards…” the bald man was inflamed, “Damn…! Not enough for fucking sausage! Was! There was one owner. Lived - wow! - The little man showed us what it is like: “woo-oh!”.

And there were enough hands.

Face. It acquired volume, protruding from the plane of the screen, as if rising from under the water. The face, looking at us, straight into our eyes, moved its lips. The sound was delayed. In the local garages, the connection is still weak. The face whispered: “You, each of you are part of the whole, you are part of us.” The face grew larger. And in this Face, in one of the pores of his skin: among the hundreds of thousands of people who flashed by, Alla’s scarlet lips, Bald’s displeased look, and ... and ... The face continued: “We are all a country. We are each of you, we are special ... ". Whisper Face: pleasant, feminine. The face fell silent and returned to the plane of the screen. The ripples on the Screen subsided. I finally, for the first time, took a deep breath: tolerable. The saleswoman kept her eyes on the peasant, glanced briefly at the checkout monitor, smiled slyly, handed him the package and said with icy caress in her voice: “Andrei Palych, you fucking drunkard, you have: when is the next cast? Do you remember? And I see - the tenth. .. of October... Go! Booze until it's September. How much benefit from you - so much to hang. Understood?!" nine0003


I felt the goo flow through the cracked sole into the boot. Outside the window, the rain raged for a minute, rustled on the roof of the store and immediately ran out of steam.

— Candy bar for me, please, that one for thirty-two! — I always have crumpled banknotes in my pocket.

The bald one hesitated, seemed to be silent, but did not want to leave. He weighed the chopped sausage in his hand, shifted from foot to foot. The gold pendant, having fallen out from under the frill of the dressing gown, swayed over the checkout monitor. Now it was worth keeping a close eye on the corners of her lips. Full lips in bright scarlet lipstick. So... Alla's scarlet lips froze and... Damn... Damn... The corners of those lips crawled down. nine0003

“What are you doing today…?” she soared, and the pendant returned to her body, “What are you doing, huh?… I have to turn in my shift. Pushed in... Yuri... Olegovich... Che, yourself... Don't you know?...

- You know, cockroaches are running around here... - I throw at her, in response, crushing useless twenty rubles. But the Russians have already disappeared from sight. Bastards.

- Ahh! - the cashier waved her plump hands, - they are etched. They die and run like crazy. Tomorrow. Come tomorrow, it won't be anymore.


The Bald One looked at me and, clutching the bag in his hand, as if preparing to turn it into a sling, spat: “Are you stupid? Well? Uniform ... Doo-oo-ra! He did not wait for my support, cut his face with a glance and went to the exit, swinging a bag of sausage in his hand. The screen did not stop: "... in the name of protecting our freedom, we are forced to announce ... - interference, crackle, facial features sharpened - ... and lead it to full and unconditional, for the good ...".

The leg is completely wet. I followed the bald one. He pushed the door with his elbow, gave it a kick. He crossed the threshold and remained under the visor. The peasant stretched out his palm forward and immediately pulled it back, shaking off the water from it; shivered, turned around, looked at my empty hands, "No umbrella, right?" Yeah ... - lifting the collar of the jacket, spat, - Well, finally, well, uniform! - he stepped into the rain, exposing his back and the back of his head to a spot of lamplight, - Fool! nine0003

From the ceiling of the shop "dressing room", right in front of me: a cockroach flew into the slush, onto the floor. He had time until tomorrow. I could not resist.

Eleventh dream

In today's dream, my son is ten, and I remember myself as a teenager. ... The bell has already rung, and the whole “Eighth “B” decided to run away and punish his teacher: “Let the young woman break off.” I got stuck on the landing, between the second and third floors: if I go down, I can find my “friends”, if I go up, then here it is - an empty office, crumbled chalk on desks and chairs. Climbing onto a wide window sill, and resting my forehead against the cool glass, I looked down: there, in a hockey box, they played football; behind the school fence - the steppe began, it is still quite gray and dry, dusty, in early April, and then - it would be great to go there now - the earthen heaps of the Pit. nine0114

“Young woman” understood everything:

— Where are they?!

“I, I… I don’t know.” I answer, staring out the window.

The bored goalkeeper was swinging on the hockey goal.

- Yura, tell me where... These...

- I, I... Don't turn around. It is forbidden.

— I d-k-k-know. — the glass was no longer cold.

Below, the whole game was on the opposite side of the field. nine0114

"Young Woman" went down a couple of steps:

— Stay here. I myself.

The pack expelled the traitor, and I, after all, I justified myself. The leader did not believe. The leader came into the classroom and spat in my face. And, all of them, who followed him, followed: a man - a spit - a man - a spit. My two friends here have kept their saliva to themselves.

My son, who is ten in this dream, is invisible to the Eighth B. Nearby, I am a teenager, again wiping my face with my sleeve. I, forty years old, invisible to anyone, found myself in a line of children following the leader. I look at the back of his head. nine0114


The bridge is half way. I was sitting under the canopy of the stands of the football stadium. Wet and chilled. The note was soaked, torn, the words spread in spots. Don't read it anymore. He laid out the scraps on a wooden seat, next to him.

"... And in general"

Rain was pouring down on the ground. Football players of the student team kneaded the mud on the field: five "black T-shirts" opposed four "red" ones. They played with ferocity. The Face was watching the game from the Screen. Two attackers ran into each other: a guy in "black" plowed the clay with his face and could not get up. “Red” came to his senses, stood up, gave his opponent a hand. The rain washed away dirt and blood from the "black" face, but the blood did not subside. Both attackers grinned happily. The face on the Screen smiled slightly and nodded approvingly, stepping out of the screen plane. Nearby, the remaining minutes of the game ran away on the scoreboard. Score: "2:2". To my left, a man in overalls was climbing up the stairs between the stands. He stopped twice to catch his breath, sat down on the edge of the nearest row and, resting, watched the game. For some reason I follow him. A man in overalls stops at my row. Here, in the empty stands, a couple of thousand fans would fit. Only now the Man in overalls decides to sit on my row. OK. I'll be patient. He sits down on the edge, rests, following the elimination of injured players from the field. It would be fine, but... While I am again distracted by his movements, stops, crouching and painful sighs... The whistle sounds. The joyful op of the Reds. On the scoreboard: "3:2". The man in overalls applauds. The man in overalls gets up and walks in my direction. He is short, dense, knocked down like that, square. A short crew cut of graying hair on a round head, thick lenses of square glasses in an old thick frame - he corrects them every now and then, breathing heavily. He whispers something very quietly. Without ceasing. I'll call him Whisperer. I thought: he will sit down a couple of meters from me. OK. I'll be patient. No. Goes on. Get on my knees. Breathing heavily. Smells. Looks at me through lenses. Corrects glasses. nine0003

— May I come through? the Whisperer asks politely, already squeezing forward, looming over me. Breathe on me. It is pressed into the narrow space between the rows.

“…How is your peace of mind?…”

“You, you…” I begin and immediately fall silent. Whisperer has already overcome the only obstacle - me. “Sorry, sorry,” he whispers and sits down straight on the note. The Whisperer sits down, rubs himself against the seat, calms down and peers at the Face on the Screen, - It's hard to see, vision is completely ... - whispers - It's minus five on the left, and the right one is completely ... But here the seats are dry. Do you mind?…

- Me?

The whisperer looks around, smiles at the prepared joke, but says nothing.

— I don’t mind. — I continue, — It’s raining… Yes. Didn't think.

— And to think... To think, you know... Oh! The Reds are great, right? Our local pride. The best among the best, in the youth reserve of the party…

— What?…

Whisperer hurriedly unbuttons his jacket and shows the party badge with the outline of the Face — on the lapel of a shabby jacket.

— Aaaa… that’s understandable. nine0003

There were five minutes left in the game. The score is still the same: "3:2" in favor of the "Reds". I'm starting to root for the "blacks". Now three have fallen. One grabbed his leg and yells in pain. Whistle. The face on the screen not only nurtures and approves them, it also judges them. The orderlies carried away the crippled man, another one crawled behind the line on all fours, froze, grinning. Whistle. The game is on. The face on the Screen nods smilingly. Out of the corner of my eye I notice: Whisperer nods in time with the Face. I turn around. No, it seemed. He is holding a note in his hands. Looks. How did you, sick man, manage to get it without getting up? nine0003

- Yours? I beg your pardon.” He hands the pieces of paper to me.

- Doesn't matter. Already…” I hide my hands in my pockets.

— It’s uncomfortable… — puts the scraps of the note on the seat in front of us — Sit on… and so to speak… knead. Something important?…

I silently watch the game.

— No, the “Reds” are such good fellows… — whispered Whisperer, — Tomorrow, at the meeting, we must separately praise… It is, of course, they are all good fellows. Everybody. But…

— Well done… Two more will be carried out and your victory… Absolutely. nine0003

- You don't understand... It's the same football. Our. Do you think this is just a game?...

— I don't understand. I'm not... It's raining... And here... Yes, it's not pouring... I'm looking.

— You see, here we came together under the same shed, into the mud, into… A lucky coincidence… — Three minutes, — I interrupt Whisperer, — yours seem to have won.

“Here,” he nodded towards the field, “They are all ours. It is for them, for the young, such a training of the will. This…” the smile did not leave his face and his look… “They are strong and will give a hand to the weak later in their adult life. And then a cast of everyone in the Face... This is our way. Our special... See? - in the look of Whisperer flashed ... Flashed a desire to do good. nine0003

— Excuse me… Shall we watch the game?

- You don't understand the rules... Our rules... You can't appreciate her level. And the final score... These are trifles. Little things. O! Can I somehow apologize for ... - The whisperer waved towards the remains of the note, - Do you want chocolate? My wife puts me on all the time. Bitter, useful. Want to?

The last minute of the game. The score is still: "3:2".

— No. And you, who is here? Will coach?

“What are you…” he laughs good-naturedly and coughs at the end, “I’m leveling the grass here on the field. Coach, tell me too...

Final whistle. The players remaining on the field joyfully fall into a red-and-black pile. An absolute victory for the Reds. The face on the Screen enthusiastically announces the results. Speech, as in garages, is delayed by five seconds. The red-black players froze without getting up from the puddle. Look at the Face. They listen. Whisperer happily slaps his knee. - I told? Spoke? I have a grandson there... He fought for the "blacks." - Whisperer gets up heavily. Painful shortness of breath returns to him, he again squeezes past me, apologizes, - And you, you, why aren’t you in the party yet? . .. Oh, sorry! - stepping on my foot. nine0003

- I... I'll think about it...

- Well, why think, tomorrow, in the evening, and come. And then, I suppose, without a job? Without insurance? No amenities?... What are you going to do next? At the housing office, when?

- Tomorrow.

- That's right ... At the housing office, then, ask for the address - he already crawled through me, turned around, looked carefully through his thick glasses lenses, and these lenses fail any direct look into themselves, to the depth.


— Would you like some chocolate after all? - he stretches out and holds a chocolate bar "for thirty-two rubles" on his outstretched hand. Doesn't lower his hand. nine0003

- Thank you.

“…What are you going to do next?”

I have chocolate. The whisperer nods goodbye and slowly moves towards the exit. The rain is over. The deserted field was covered with a smooth surface of dirty brown water.

Dream thirty-second

In this dream, I am thirty years old. I can't see my son in the crowd, but he's definitely here. Thousands came to the small Square. Closely. Closely to all of them. It’s crowded for me: just raise your hands, just stand, breathe, talk. Scream. How those who are closely next to me scream. It’s crowded for everyone: behind the back of a granite giant, behind the back of a foreign leader. From him, not looking at us, from him, granite and blocky, from him, lifeless, echoed: "Are you" against "?!" My hand stretches up for a long time. I look back at a thousand voices. I hear: "Are you "for"?" And thousands of hands agree. I open my mouth and take in cold air. Fish silence. From left and right, in front of me and behind me, they shouted in unison: “For!!!” I push, I try to move. Nowhere. I, forty years old, I am behind myself, standing behind the back of a foreign leader. I look out for my son in the crowd. I can't find him at all. nine0114


And the shed was recently demolished. He was lying right there, by the excavator left for the night. Nearby - poplar stumps - thrown in disarray. The deep ruts from the wheels in the wasteland are filled with water. A lone wooden chair, with a faded inventory number on its back, stood pressed into the ground on a small mound, under the crown of the last living poplar on the shore. There is a small puddle on the worn plywood seat, you touch it and sparkling ripples spread. Here, if you stand on a chair, you have a great view of the bridge, if only you don’t hit a thick, strong branch with your head. The clouds were leaving. It was getting dark. A light breeze picked up. Coldly. Wet. Not far from the bridge support, a fisherman was sitting. He doesn't see me, he doesn't hear. On the other side of the river is a city. There are people there, they don’t need to go to the housing office tomorrow. Nonsense. For someone exactly like me, it's time. Someone like me is sitting on the shore. And he was lucky with the canopy. Hey man-on-the-shore, what about tomorrow? Today? Who, today, stayed with you? I am here alone. The fisherman doesn't count. You know, I peered into the grove now, it's over there, behind me, across the road; and saw a Face in the branches. Always and everywhere: I see faces. They say - the memory of the ancestors. For thousands of years they survived peering into the darkness: waiting for enemies. Are you familiar? As a child, you stand, punished, in the corner: and in front of you, a whole hour, only the tie of an oriental carpet. And in these patterns: on an embroidered branch, from its flowers and fruits, heroes were born. Creatures crawled out of intricate knots, they braided, with their bodies, the paths of the heroes. Where are you all now? Where? They say it's not scary if you see human features in the inanimate. You, they say, should worry if you feel their eyes on you. No. There is no Face in the grove. Elm, darkness ...

“Creatures crawled out…”

It seemed. Truth. What should he do in the wasteland? Then they will build it, like everywhere else. Later. And if, for a moment... And I can easily pass for him: “I am you. We are one…” So: word by word. On my shore, some kind of joker... You see... A chair, a bough on a tree... He, a joker, did not know about the leash: he remained from the Lord... He took it with him, for everyone... You know, so many dreams have accumulated. It's getting harder and harder for me to remember them. It's getting harder and harder to separate. They are all about the same thing. They are about my son and about me. You assured: "Any dream, any bad dream is finite." So what are you?!... Wake up! On the count: "Three!". Once! Two! Okay... We have to go back to the beginning. You, Man-on-the-shore, were not there. It seemed. A look appeared to me. You are absent. You are me. Then who is looking at me? nine0003

The fisherman coughed, the fisherman did not take his eyes off the leash in my hand. I was standing on a hillock. Near a chair. I need a strong branch. The city on the other side was drowning in electricity. The first stars have already appeared in the sky. The fisherman grunted, adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder.

- Let's go, I'll bring it to the house. Freak.

— Yes, no, you... Everything... Not so... Everything.

- Yes, I don’t give a damn, what’s there, how ... The place is good. I fish here. We’re walking with our grandchildren,” he took off his backpack, tore a chair out of the ground, and with a swing smashed its overlying iron canopy. “That’s good. Well, let's go. I’ll give you a treat ... The weather is vile. We should... For health. Otherwise, you're like a wet chicken...

- I am Yura.

- Nikolai Grigorievich. Take your fishing rods. Fishing is rubbish. But at home... At home I have a red one. Such… wow…

— Thank you. I will stay. Do you have a dog?

— Well… Yes.

“Here,” handed him the leash, “he’s been gone for a long time. Need?

— Come on. Are you sure you won't go?

Yes. Yes. Take it.

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