A blog about LGBTQ+ History, Art, Literature, Politics, Culture, and Whatever Else Comes to Mind. The Closet Professor is a fun (sometimes tongue-in-cheek, sometimes very serious) approach to LGBTQ+ Culture.
Saturday, November 30, 2019
Moment of Zen: My Birthday
Friday, November 29, 2019
Pic of the Day
From the Sublime to the Ridiculous
Thursday, November 28, 2019
Wednesday, November 27, 2019
Tuesday, November 26, 2019
Monday, November 25, 2019
Sunday, November 24, 2019
It’s a Sad Day
Lost Its Flavor
Salt is used as a preservative to keep food fresh longer. Once it loses its usefulness the salt will get tossed out with yesterday's trash. It's difficult to imagine how salt loses its saltiness but in the context of a Christian, it's easy to see how a Christian loses their flavor. When Christians try to blend in with the world we give away the essence of a Christian. Let's do our best to keep our flavor!
Saturday, November 23, 2019
Friday, November 22, 2019
Thursday, November 21, 2019
Wednesday, November 20, 2019
The Big Event
Tuesday, November 19, 2019
O Me! O Life!
O Me! O Life!
Monday, November 18, 2019
Sunday, November 17, 2019
When you find yourself full of despair and hopelessness, look to God. When everyone around you says it can't be done, it's not worth your energy, or you have too much to lose; Do not allow your obstacle to appear larger than what God can handle. Remember God is greater than the obstacle at hand. Have faith in Him and He will fight the battle for you.
Saturday, November 16, 2019
Moment of Zen: Coffee
Friday, November 15, 2019
Thursday, November 14, 2019
Wednesday, November 13, 2019
Tuesday, November 12, 2019
Monday, November 11, 2019
In Flanders Fields
Although he had been a doctor for years and had served in the South African War, it was impossible to get used to the suffering, the screams, and the blood here, and Major John McCrae had seen and heard enough in his dressing station to last him a lifetime.
As a surgeon attached to the 1st Field Artillery Brigade, Major McCrae, who had joined the McGill faculty in 1900 after graduating from the University of Toronto, had spent seventeen days treating injured men -- Canadians, British, Indians, French, and Germans -- in the Ypres salient.
It had been an ordeal that he had hardly thought possible. McCrae later wrote of it:
"I wish I could embody on paper some of the varied sensations of that seventeen days... Seventeen days of Hades! At the end of the first day if anyone had told us we had to spend seventeen days there, we would have folded our hands and said it could not have been done."
One death particularly affected McCrae. A young friend and former student, Lieut. Alexis Helmer of Ottawa, had been killed by a shell burst on 2 May 1915. Lieutenant Helmer was buried later that day in the little cemetery outside McCrae's dressing station, and McCrae had performed the funeral ceremony in the absence of the chaplain.
The next day, sitting on the back of an ambulance parked near the dressing station beside the Canal de l'Yser, just a few hundred yards north of Ypres, McCrae vented his anguish by composing a poem. The major was no stranger to writing, having authored several medical texts besides dabbling in poetry.
In the nearby cemetery, McCrae could see the wild poppies that sprang up in the ditches in that part of Europe, and he spent twenty minutes of precious rest time scribbling fifteen lines of verse in a notebook.
A young soldier watched him write it. Cyril Allinson, a twenty-two year old sergeant-major, was delivering mail that day when he spotted McCrae. The major looked up as Allinson approached, then went on writing while the sergeant-major stood there quietly. "His face was very tired but calm as we wrote," Allinson recalled. "He looked around from time to time, his eyes straying to Helmer's grave."
When McCrae finished five minutes later, he took his mail from Allinson and, without saying a word, handed his pad to the young NCO. Allinson was moved by what he read:
"The poem was exactly an exact description of the scene in front of us both. He used the word blow in that line because the poppies actually were being blown that morning by a gentle east wind. It never occurred to me at that time that it would ever be published. It seemed to me just an exact description of the scene."
In fact, it was very nearly not published. Dissatisfied with it, McCrae tossed the poem away, but a fellow officer retrieved it and sent it to newspapers in England. The Spectator, in London, rejected it, but Punch published it on 8 December 1915.