Within Arm's Reach

It is painful how this political race is ending up. The Democrats are imploding and the sole Republican is sitting pretty, looking calm, almost regal.

It’s been hard to watch. I am a Clinton supporter. I believe she is a better candidate. It’s not about Obama. I think he is capable and if nominated, will surround himself with smart people.

I simply believe Clinton already is smart enough.

What I’m struck by, mostly, is not the fight between the “Dunkin Donuts Clintonites” and the “Starbucks Obamatrons.” Nestled in our enclave of liberal supporters we are arguing over minutia.

Especially in the LGBT community where either candidate leaves much to be desired. It’s choosing between being treated like dirt and being treated like dirt.

But we sit today, with a historic opportunity, to elect the first African-American man or to elect the first woman President of the United States and we're blowing it.

Unwelcome folks in the world of white, male power. Very unwelcome. I have often questioned where the mud slinging has come from- the other Democrat or the entrenched powers that be?

I came across an essay this morning, “Whiskey in the Kitchen” in the book, "An Omelette and a Glass of Wine," by Elizabeth David.

David recalls a gentleman who writes to complain about the audacity of a food writer to suggest using whiskey, instead of cognac, to flambé a lobster. The complainant was from England, in 1952.

"I wonder if deep down that peppery gentleman's irritation might perhaps have been due to fear that once the gaff about whiskey not being suitable for the kitchen was blown the master's bottle would no longer be quite sacrosanct. The little woman, instead of having to explain the spending of twenty-five shillings of the housekeeping money on a half bottle of ‘cooking’ brandy, would be at liberty to raid the Scotch for a few tablespoonsful at any time, and nobody the wiser."

Not unlike today’s political situation, now is it? As Clinton or Obama come close to the ultimate prize, I can’t help but feel that those entrenched in political power would rather we stick to our Senate seats, our State legislatures, rather than sip at the carefully guarded Scotch.

The way things have always been done- cognac for flambé, is being challenged. The master’s bottle is no longer sacrosanct.

And instead of locking arms to combat the very real John McCain, we are killing each other.

With history within arm’s reach.