There is a saying ‘ in wine there is truth.’ I would like to add, ‘in Martini, there is adoration.’
I’m a relatively optimistic person. I think most bitter cynical people are. I am sure my cynicism comes from viewing the world from inside my head – in there, the world is a decent place. People try their hardest to do good, and strive for originality and creativity in their expressions. The vast majority of folks get along. Karma swiftly levels the playing field. No one laughs at you if you are 12 and wear your hair moussed-up like that picture you saw in a magazine where the girl had pointy bangs. Men wear fishnets without complaining if their lovers want them to. Gardens spring up if all you do it think about them. And so on, and so on. Contrast my happy-headed world with real life and you get – disappointment. And from disappointment bounds forth cynicism. ‘Bitter’ is the tone most commonly used when voicing cynicism- but a proper sense of humor helps temper or inflame the bitterness (of course, this pretty much depends on the individual).
So – I am an optimist, so I am a cynic. Or ‘pragmatist’ if I am in unfamiliar/polite company. (Or ‘mute,’ if I am really out of my league. But I digress.)
I thought I understood life’s more powerful emotions. Optimistically, I believed I grasped the concept of ‘true, devoted love.’ I thought I knew enough to recognize that devotion took on many forms. There is the 12-year-old-girl devotion to the wonderful androgynous being that is David Bowie. There is the 19-year-old devotion to anything related to the theatre (and sometimes Kenneth Branagh). There is the 22-year-old devotion to self-destruction, which is not quite as deadly as the devotion to self-improvement. Then there is devotion to a peer, a true flesh-and-blood other, who also devotes themselves to you. But, of course, in this devotion occasionally devotion itself wavers – it does not disappear, but it flickers, such as when you notice how fine Bowie looks at 50, or when the possessive imp that keeps the flesh-and-blood other from putting their laundry away rears its ugly head. But, you think, surely devotion itself is not devoted all of the time, correct? How would you distinguish feelings of devotion if they were a constant? You could not – times of flickering are a part of life, and make times of devotion all that more consuming.
I now realize, though, that particular sentiment is merely another embodiment of my cynicism. I learned this late one night, when I returned home from school. As I closed the garage door behind me, I heard something – a desperate sound coming from the living room. The sound built – reaching a crescendo – and as I turned the corner into the living room I was greeted by . . .
. . .my puppy, thundering towards me as fast as her little legs could carry her. I bent down to pet her and she slammed her body into mine, tail wagging frantically and her little puppy nose working crazily trying to drink all of me in at once. She looked up at me with her hazel eyes and her look clearly said, “Where have you been? My life was incomplete without you. Thank god you are home.” From the couch, my husband called, “Hi, dear,” and returned to his computer.
Martini continued to wag her entire body, trying to climb up my limbs and nestle herself somewhere in between my stomach and collarbone. Needless to say, this effort failed but, undeterred, she continued to welcome me home by leaping into the air and barking. After all, it had been over a day since the last time I came home – and well over 12 hours since the last time she laid her little puppy eyes on me. Mere tail wagging alone was not enough to mark the occasion. Had she been capable of singing, or back-flipping, or gathering the neighborhood together for a parade I believe she gladly would have done so, but since she was a mere puppy dog she did the best she could – yelping and jumping and covering my ankles with kisses.
Perhaps, as a child, I loved another at this level. Sadly, I do not remember. More sadly, I am not sure if I will love this way again. My devotion now finds boundaries, and does not display itself with pomp and circumstance. When I slam my body into another I do so in an entirely different form of expression, and at much lower speeds. And usually not on the living room floor.
For her efforts Martini was rewarded the best way I could think of – with a small cookie. This prompted another bout of tail wagging puppy prancing explosions. Obviously, today was the best day of her young puppy life – for not only had I come home, I had given her a doggie treat! And told her she was a ‘good dog.’ Any more joy might have caused her little canine heart to burst.
As humans, I do not believe we are capable of such sheer adulation and unwavering dedication. Yes, over the long term, I am devoted to another. And there are those I love I know I would protect with my life and limb – and, as I am fond of my life and limbs, I think this is a substantial commitment. But the level of ‘puppy-love’ no longer exists – it has been replaced by conditions and can be overshadowed by selfish wants.
I view myself as an optimist. I try to believe this world can be a better place – maybe this line of thought is closer to ‘idealism’ than anything. But a tiny chocolate Labrador introduced me to a height of devotion my idealistic mind had never before considered. A level where, no matter how many times I go away, or how often I interrupt her fun and prevent her from eating the papasahn, or how much I groan during the 3:00 AM potty trips, she will still look at me with her hazel puppy eyes and say, “You are the center of my world. Your presence alone makes me happy.”
So – here is my idealistic, optimistic, pragmatic advice to you out there – oh souls who seek an undying, perfect love, who continue in your search for The One who will adore you day in and day out, who will contentedly lay themselves at your feet. For those of you who believe in the perfection of unwavering, unconditional devotion – here is what you must do:
Buy a dog.
And try, try to make yourself worthy of their adoration and kisses. You won't succeed, but try anyway.
Because if you don't, Martini and I will kick yer ass.
- written with love 5/12/04 by Sommit's Chocolate Martini's mommy