The End

     During breakfast, I received troubling news in the form of a letter. Glimmer slid it into my lap silently, tears staining her cheeks. Scared, I stopped mid chew and examined the glossy picture adorning the front of the postcard. "Saluti da Italia", or greetings from Italy, was embossed on the card. Anxiously, I turned to the back and instantly recognized the scrawled handwriting of Signor Volpe. "TTI has been disbanded. You must make it back to modern day before midnight tomorrow. I'm sorry." Now I realized the source of Glimmer's distress, and a matching tear dropped into my omelet. No longer relaxed, I immediately started plotting my next move. Where should I go for one last trip? In an instant, the answer came to me.
     The sounds of antique car horns and clacking heels brought me to 1920s Paris. The Eiffel tower stood alone in the sky, defying gravity. Florists sold daisies and the aroma of baguettes wafted towards me. Before remembering my purpose of being here, I gawked at the culture surrounding me. Then I recalled my mission. Inspiration. I started marveling at the revolutionary clothing worn by the short-haired women strolling through the streets. Low-waisted shifts with art-deco patterns and tight cloched hats exuded chic sophistication. I even saw women sporting the rare trouser.
     After spending my last day sketching in the park and eating buttery foods, I reluctantly returned to New York. The crowds almost knocked me off my feet. My head still full of knowledge, I walked to my condo and started sewing. Magic flowed through my fingers as I melded modern colors with the silhouettes and attitude of vintage French fashion. Turning out piece after piece, I realized that my work could be turned in for a grade. My college professor at Parson's institute of design would love my originality. I had found my senior theses. 
     Toting my full collection with me the next morning, I entered the now familiar campus that had become my home. When I entered my design theory classroom, my heart jumped to my throat. At the front of the room stood my fashion icon, Betsey Johnson. Her original style had made me want to become a fashion designer. She announced that she was retiring and was here to find a new prodigy to inherit her dynasty.  For the next hour, she inspected the work of my peers. Eventually, she reached my station. She reacted immediately, her face morphing from distaste to awe. She had nothing bad to say. My clothes were fresh and in, but original and creative. Within the day, I had obtained 27 stores and a custom line. Betsey gave me the opportunity to apprentice with her over the summer, and she said that by fall, she would be able to retire knowing that her legacy would be maintained.
     Looking back as my life as a time traveler, I realized that my experience had been life-changing. It had made me the person that I was today. The journeys had been worth the time I sacrificed, and I was sad that they had to end. Although I couldn't imagine life without TTI, I was ready to go on a new adventure in modern time.


    

Shakespeare

     Shakespeare was an English play-write and poet. He was born on April 23, 1564, and died on April 23, 1616. As a child, he attended grammar school begrudgingly. John Shakespeare and Mary Arden were the parents of William Shakespeare and his seven siblings. When he was 18, Shakespeare married Anne Hathaway due to an illegitimate pregnancy. They were happily married and had 3 kids, Susanna, Hamnet, and Judith. For the early years of their marriage, the Shakespeare family lived with William's parents, because he couldn't keep a steady job.
     William traveled to London to start a career as an actor. He joined the Globe theater and became a successful actor. He regularly sent money back to Anne, for she never moved to the city. Although Shakespeare was an actor by trade, he wrote 39 plays. When the bubonic plague hit London, all the theaters were closed down, and William started writing sonnets. Poets were highly esteemed citizens, unlike controversial play-writes.
     While Shakespeare's plays were considered propaganda at the time, they are now wildly popular. His tragedies, comedies, and histories have been performed countless times and adapted into many movies. Shakespeare is the second most quoted author, after the writers of the Bible. His scripts have morphed into sayings used today. The timeless themes of his plays have inspired many aspiring writers all over the world.

Reformation

The Reformation was a period of change for religion in The Holy Roman Empire. People were furious at the corruption in the church. Some believed that the church shouldn't be the main religious authority. Some just didn't want to share power with the church. After the Great Schism, a division between the Roman church, leaders started new branches of Christianity.

John Wycliffe (1330-1384) was an English Scholar. He realized that the Great Schism was an opportunity for change, and he openly questioned the pope's authority. He believed that the bible was the true religious authority, and he translated it into English so normal people could read it. This enraged the pope, and John Wycliffe was accused of heresy.

Jan Hus (1370-1415) was a priest. He believed that the head of the church was Jesus. He wanted to return the church to the people. He wanted corruption among the people that officiated the church  to end, and he wanted mass to be offered in a language the people could understand. In 1415, he was burned at the stake.

Catherine of Siena (1347-1380) was an Italian mystic. She was an incredibly devoted, and had visions of god. She prayed for hours, and tried to end the Great Schism. Although she became a saint, her influence encouraged people to have personal spiritual experiences rather than church ones.

Desiderius Erasmus (1466-1536) was a priest from Holland. He published a book called "The Praise of Folly" that attacked church leaders. He wanted to return to Christian goodness. Although he didn't want to branch into different forms of Christianity, his influence prepared people for the reformation.

 Martin Luther was a German priest. He believed that salvation came from belief in god, not good works. Luther wrote the 95 theses against indulgences. He felt that indulgences were false salvation. Many were confused by his ideas, so he published pamphlets about his beliefs. He haggled that the bible was the true religious authority and that baptism and Eucharist were the only true sacraments. The Diet of Worms declared that Luther was a heretic, but his ideas still reached many. Later, he started Lutheranism.

Huldrych Zwingli (1484-1531) was a Swiss priest. He convinced his government to ban any non-bible based worship and secede from the church. He believed that worship of relics, saints, statues, and painting were wrong. He thought church services should be free from music. When Swiss Catholics declared war on his town, Zwingli died in battle.

John Calvin (1509-1564) was a French humanist. He started  Calvinism, a strict religion based on the idea that god elected a lucky few to be saved. These people showed they were saved by acting without sin. The Calvinist branch inspired many other branches of Christianity.

King Henry VIII (1491-1547) was the King of England. He started the Church of England because he didn't want to share power. He also formed his own church because the pope denied him a divorce. He shut down all English Catholic monasteries.

Brunelleschi's dome

It

started

the

Renaissan

ce in Florence and 

sparked the Medici Le

gacy of patronage and spo

nsership of culture, a feat of

defying engineering accomplished

by an architect who looked to the

classical period for inspiration, build

ing orphanages with columns and ar

ches, Brunelleschi spurred the huma

nist revolution unkowingly as soon as

he built the dome at santa maria del

 fiore,the dome of Florence

Sonnet

A sonnet is a 14 line poem with 10 syllables per line. They were invented during the Italian Renaissance, and Shakespeare wrote many of them.

Renaissance Italy

Exhausted with living in the darkness

Tired of just surviving, cultureless

The Renaissance, like a candle that's lit

Hoarding great wealth, city-states benefit

Artists with a cause smear paint on canvas

Rich patrons beautify their new cities

Tools chisel stone, weapons long abandoned

Under a blanket of discovery

Lies an ever present feud, dividing

Radical Humanists against the church

But life continues with mirth, ignoring

New ideas are formed, thinkers rejoicing

Paranoid geniuses keep plans hidden

The dark is forgotten in the clamor

Florence Art Tour

This week, I went  on an art tour to see the famous works of artists that were sponsored by the Medici Family. The Medici family lived in Florence during the Renaissance. They were great patrons of art and culture. Because the Medici family revolutionized European life, some say that they were the godfathers of the renaissance. They left a legacy that changed history.

This painting is Prima Vera by Sandro Botticelli. He was one of Lorenzo Medici's favorite artists. This painting was controversial at the time because it didn't show biblical events. It portrayed a Pagan custom.

This is Donatello's David. It was the first freely standing bronze statue created during the Renaissance. It marked the beginning of art patronage.

Michelangelo was a student at the first ever art university in Florence. When he was just a teenager, Lorenzo Medici brought him under his wing. Lorenzo told Michelangelo to create non-biblical art, but Michelangelo refused. Instead, he painted works like this one, titled The Creation of Adam.

Leonardo Da Vinci was another artist patronized by the Medici family. He was interested in engineering as well as art. As a child, he helped a master artist create commissioned paintings. His use of vibrant colors set his work apart. Interested in human anatomy, he dissected multiple corpses.

On of Michelangelo's masterpieces is the ceiling of the Sistine chapel. He painted it at a time when Giovanni Medici was pope Leo X. The Medici's had religious power as well as being the despots of Florence. Leo X commissioned the ceiling in the Vatican to Michelangelo, who cynically obliged. He thought his time was better spent sculpting and. Although Michelangelo resented being forced to paint the Sistine chapel, it is now viewed as one of the greatest works of Renaissance Europe.

Haikus

A new age that sprouts

From the ruins of dark ages

A revolution

The Sistine Chapel
Michelangelo's great work
Sullenly painted

Medici family
Godfathers of Renaissance
Name brings resentment

Forced to deny truth
Or accept consequences
Catholic church rules

Florence, a city
of patronage and patrons
Beautiful

M10: Samurai School

     As a flashed into Japan with my best friend Lola, I heard the clash of swords and whoosh of arrows. We had stepped into a war zone. Heads lay rolling in pools of blood. Samurais in heavy armor fought against other samurais. Scared, we rushed to a sheltered tree. One dynamic samurai approached us. "Become a samurai to fight for Japan's freedom" he said. Intrigued, we agreed. He led us to a nearby pagoda, were samurai meditated in zen gardens. When we entered, we were assigned to a master, a fit young man with straight hair. "If you want to become a samurai, you must become mentally prepared first. You must learn to accept pain and you must develop a sixth sense." he said. Reluctantly, we all took a journey up a tall mountain. At the top, snow dusted the ground and we started shivering. We were directed to remove our shoes. Then we started to pick our way down the path.
     At the end of the 5 hour hike, my feet were numb. I couldn't feel anything. Blood ran in rivets from the cuts on our soles, and gravel stuck to our toes. The sight of my mangled body should have terrified me, but I felt nothing. "Congratulations." our master said. "You have stopped feeling. You will now learn to have a sixth sense." As we stood still, he took out a thin bamboo rod and whacked us with it, leaving red welts on our faces. "What the.." Lola said as he delivered another blow. The hits came again and again, until we learned to dodge them. After we avoided the rod 20 consecutive times, he set it down. "You now will be able to sense danger." he said. "Your mental training is complete."
     We had lessons in fencing and archery, and were deemed ready to fight. We were wrapped in multiple silk kimonos and covered in a thin armor made of metal plates. Leather shin guards were attached to our legs, and we walked to the battle field. I knew that I should have been nervous or excited, but I just felt numb. The fight had already started, so we picked an available opponent and advanced. With long, curved swords, we beat our foe to the ground. I dodged every blow and parried with vengeance. Our feet barely touching the ground, we struck down everyone in sight.
     After a few minutes, Lola and I split up to fight individually. My competitor was hard to beat, and I started panting. He blocked all my moves and advanced with quick hits. I kicked him and he became unbalanced. Taking advantage of the moment, I swung my sword through the air in a slow motion arc. Without thinking, I had aimed my sword at the bare curve of his neck. As blood escaped his throat, I realized what I had done. I felt my weapon slice through a last piece of cartilage, and his head fell into my lap. A strangled scream escaped me, and horror filled my veins. Suddenly, the emotion I had numbed myself too came back.
     I pushed the bloody carnage off of me. Lola backed away in disgust. Scared at what I had become, I ran away from the battle. I jumped in a nearby stream and ribbons of red washed off my clothes. I was against all types of killing. I didn't eat meat and avoided blood at all costs. I marveled at the emotionless killing machine I had become. The man I killed probably had a family at home, a wife waiting in terror when he didn't return. I  walked back to Lola and pulled her away from the continuing war. Although my friend was amazed at my behavior, she still followed me as we flashed back to 2012. I told her about how mental training had made me a zombie and how I now understood that it was good to feel emotion. Emotions are the only things stopping people from killing without mercy. She forgave me, and admitted that she had stabbed a guy in the leg. "Just like Cato stabbing Peeta" she laughed. We both vowed never to fight without reason again.

M9: Words Are Worth a Thousand Pictures

     Woken by the sound of oars slicing choppy water, I slid out of my bunk and climbed a set of stairs onto the deck of my ship. All around me, the China Sea stretched out for miles. After 30 days of sailing, I had found my sea legs, and I confidently strolled to the end of the vessel. Prince Shotoku had entreated me to travel to China as his advisor, so I had been given a crew and a boat. Once in China, I was to collect examples of Chinese culture to bring back to Japan. The adventure was very exciting, but sailing for months was starting to annoy me. I was understanding the ways of ocean travel, so I awoke the crew and we rode a wave of wind closer to our destination.
     The horizon line was fuzzy with morning fog. Miles away, a shape was becoming prominent in the haze. I could make out building and trees that dotted what I now realized was land. We increased our speed and were at the port of China within the hour. People carried sculptures of Buddha into pagodas and musicians played gagaku on shengs. I was amazed by the commotion, and I jumped off the boat with gusto. In a frenzy, I grabbed huge stone carvings, maps of Chang'an, drawings of temples, Buddhist writings, and Chinese calligraphy. At the last minute, I grabbed an unimportant piece of poetry and shoved it into the already full boat. When I had substantial collection of Chinese culture, I headed back to Japan.
     Our boat moved slowly away from the mainland. With the boat brimming with artifacts, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I had completed Prince Shotoku's task, and I would be honored when I reached Japan. A ship was moving toward us, but I thought nothing of it until the vessel was practically on top of us. Suddenly I noticed the flag waving from its mast. Pirates! I called all hands on deck, but already the swashbucklers were boarding our boat. They took all of our precious cargo. They left after the deck had been cleaned of everything. Dismayed, I realized that I would have to report to Prince Shotoku empty handed. We didn't have enough supplies to go back to China. With a heart full of sorrow, I retreated to my quarters.
     After the attack, the journey was more subdued. We anxiously awaited our arrival in Japan, fearing our failure. As I halfheartedly commanded the crew, a lone piece of paper on the deck caught my eye. Flipping it over, I quickly scanned the beautiful poem written on it:
Sitting by the oak,
My mind wanders, as always,
Transporting me to
A peaceful place where nature 
And man live in harmony
I recognized the poem as tanka, a Japanese form of literature with 5 lines. Hope overcame me. Maybe my journey hadn't gone to waste.
     Rushing up the steps of Prince Shotoku's palace, I hoped he would accept the poem. I entered the throne room and showed the ruler my makeshift collection of culture. At first, he was skeptical of my marginal work. "Is this all you have brought?" he asked gruffly. As he read the poem, however, a smile spread across his face. "I love the use of syllables." he stated. Showing the poem to others that had gathered, I knew that I had made the right decision. The royalty started making up tanka poems of their own. Word quickly spread through the city about the new phenomenon. I had just introduced Japan to a new art form.

M8: Matchmaker Mistakes

     Trekking through the Mayan rain forest, I approached ancient Chichen itza. The sun crested the horizon as women ground maize on stone blocks. Teenagers watched chubby babies and stray farm animals and swept dirt floors. At the center of the city, a giant temple rose up into the lightening sky. I walked up to a thatched house in the rural section of the city. An aging couple stood in the doorway, arguing heatedly. "The atanzbah paired our talented son with that ugly witch from down the street." the man said. Abruptly, they turned to me and stopped talking. "What do you want, outsider?" the women said with hostility. "I'm the most skilled matchmaker around. I have come to help you find a great wife for your son." I replied arrogantly.
     After much negotiating, I reached an agreement with the couple. They would pay me only if I got Ixmucane to marry their son Kukulcan. Ixmucane was a 15 year old girl who was great at cooking, weaving, and singing. Thinking this would be an easy task, I went to interview Kukulcan. As I approached the field where he was working, I hesitated. Kukulcan lay under a tree, fast asleep. I tactfully nudged him with the toe of my boot, jarring him awake. I interrogated him, but he had little to share. He was weak, ugly, and stupid. Trying to consolidate a list of good characteristics while still being honest, I started to worry.
     While walking back to his parents, I crossed the path of a group of Mayan soldiers. They held magnificent, curved bows and graceful spears. Intrigued by the fine weaponry, I asked where it had been made. Surprisingly, they pointed in the direction of Kukulcan. "He is the most skilled weapon maker around. All wealthy warriors use his weapons." a burly soldier informed me. Excited, I began to run towards Ixmucane's hut. I was met by her hunch-backed parents. I told them that even though Kukulcan was ugly and weak, he would pay a large dowry. Reluctantly, Imuxcane's family agreed to meet with Kukulcan's family to discuss possible marriage.
     The parents haggled for hours. I sat by quietly and watched, amused. Finally, a decision was reached. Kukulcan would give Imuxcane's parents a dowry that could pay for new farming equipment and enough seeds to last 20 years. He would also farm their fields for 5 years. Both families were happy, and villagers built a hut behind Imuxcane's family house for the couple to live after the ceremony. Special clothes were woven, and invitations were sent out. The wedding was about to begin!
     A priest stood at an altar in the plaza. In front of him stood Kukulcan and Imuxcane. Both of them looked sad to be there. Suddenly it hit me. No one had asked the couple if they wanted to be married. They had had no say. I hadn't meant to help set up a forced marriage. I thought being a matchmaker would be more like "Fiddler on the Roof". Since I didn't want to be sacrificed (or was that the Aztecs?), I stood by quietly as the couple was blessed by the priest. They were now officially married. Defeated and angry, I traveled back to New York. I would never again be a matchmaker.

M7: Influence of Islam

     In a flash, I arrived in a Mali savanna. Yellow grass tickled my knees, and I could spy scraggly trees in the distance. A barren village loomed on the hazy horizon. Smiling at the yolk colored sun , I meandered toward the mud huts. As I started to enter the surrounding fields, workers stared at me suspiciously. In the heart of the small town, a metal worker created ornate dishes out of scraps. Intrigued, I paused and watched. The artist was an old man, but he still moved with a spirited grace. In an instant, he had whipped up a gorgeous work of art. Deciding that I wanted to learn the ways of the metalworkers, I asked about apprenticeships.
     We had a conversation in Bambara, a popular language in Mali. He informed me that many people wanted to become his apprentice, for he was the only metalworker that wasn't part of a guild. Young, talented, workers had traveled from miles away to earn his teaching, and all had failed. All apprentices with potential had to make a sample piece that was put through intense scrutiny. Despite his warning, I made up my mind to try. Inspired by the Benin plaques, I formed a wax model. It was a snapshot of the metalworker.
      I surrounded the wax form in clay, then stuck it in the fire. Soon the wax had melted. I created an alloy out of scrap metal and poured it into the empty clay mold. After a half hour, the metal hardened. Using a hammer, I chipped away the clay, revealing a perfect plaque. Proudly, I showed the metalworker. Alarmed, he covered my work with a piece of Kente cloth. "Don't you know anything?" He yell-whispered. " This village has converted to Islam. I am the only animist left. Creating art that depicts people or animals is sacrilege, because only god can create life. If we are caught with your plaque, we will be punished." Astonished by this display, I winced and accidentally pushed aside the cloth covering my treasonous art. A collective gasp was released by a gathering crowd. "Run," the metalworker spat through gritted teeth. "RUN"
     As I slipped through a gap in the people, I noticed the metalworker had been grabbed by the chief's advisers. Cursing myself, I turned on my heels and walked to the captors willingly. We were taken to the chiefs house. "You have been caught practicing animism. This is a great crime and you will both have to pay severe fines." the chief chastened. He addressed the metalworker with scorn. "I expected much better of you, griot." Surprised, I studied my companion with respect. The griot opened his mouth, and a flood of words spilled out. In a hypnotic voice, he told onlookers about how I had come from a place without the light of Islam. He wove a magical story that had the chief tearing up. When the griot finally stopped talking, the chief let us go with many apologies. The griot seemed weary of me now, so I thanked him and went on my way.
      As I walked out of the village, people smiled and waved. I pondered my new adventure and all I had learned. Griots have great power, but the power of Islam is greater. Sometimes though, a griot can tell a story that combats this power. No matter what anybody said, I was proud of my plaque. Contentment spread through my veins as I waded to my Porsche.

M6: Botswana!

     I alighted on the Gaborone airstrip, and a perky flight attendant announced our arrival. I didn't get how anyone could be perky after a 16 hour plane ride. Because I was going to modern Botswana, I had to deal with commercial travel. When I left the airport, I was blinded by the bright sun glinting of the sparse skyscrapers. Gaborone was the capital of Botswana, but with only 191,776 people, it paled in the face of New York. I stopped for a lunch of pounded meat (a popular dish in Botswana) and took a cab 200 miles to the central Kalahari Game Reserve.
     After 3 hours of dealing with a hostile cab driver, I had finally arrived at the game reserve. The reserve is the second largest in the world, covering about 32,808 square miles. Tall, sun-bleached grass swayed in the mellow wind below a never ending expanse of blue sky. Last year I had gotten my safari license, so I rented a jeep and set out by myself. Giraffes, cheetahs, leopards, hyenas, and warthog are just a sample of the abundant wildlife that calls the Central Kalahari Game Reserve home. What I really wanted to see, however, was a lion. As I drove along a dirt road, I heard a loud snarl emit from under my vehicle.
     After braking quickly, I peered at the ground below me. A lion cub batted my face with a soft paw. For a moment, I was entranced. The cubs tan fur stuck out at odd angles, and his big brown eyes seemed to melt my soul. After ooohing and awwing over how cute the cub was, I started to wonder what he was doing here. The circumstance bewildered me, until I noticed a large scratch in his side. I realized that the cub must have been abandoned after his mother noticed that he was losing blood rapidly. As a reflex, I started to grab him. He let out a low, malignant growl. Deciding that I couldn't pick him up safely, I climbed back in the car to get help.
     I turned the key, but nothing happened. The jeep sputtered before dying all the way. Ducking beneath the car again, I cautiously approached the injured cub. In one fluid motion, I threw him into the passenger seat. I wrapped him in my jacket while he was still stunned by the throw. Shoving him in my pack, I started to walk back the way I came. The hot sun produced a line of sweat along my brow. Growing exhausted, I almost gave up. Just then, a mournful whine came from my pack, reminding me why I needed to keep going.
     Finally, just as the horizon was erupting is a golden sunset, I saw the Game Reserve Headquarters. Inspired by the dropping temperature, I sprinted the last mile of my taxing journey. After explaining what had happened to a flustered secretary, the cub was taken by some veterinarians. The head vet explained that the cub would've been a goner if I hadn't rescued him. As I was leaving, the cub let out a bittersweet purr and waved his paw, as if saying goodbye. I knew then that some things were worth sacrificing for.

M5: The Crusades

     Sitting on a wagon among a sea of carts, we were funneled into the holy city of Jerusalem. My driver, Jacob, turned left onto a different road. We followed the stream of traffic toward the West Wall. Jacob was my Jewish friend that had volunteered to show me the remains of the Jewish Temple. The Jewish temple had been destroyed by the Romans. The Western Wall was all that was left. Jerusalem was a holy city for Muslims, Jews, and Christians. Finally our wagon pulled off to the side and we got out. Just then, soldiers streamed over the walls that protected Jerusalem.
     "Jerusalem belongs to the Christians" a knight no older then 13 screamed as he vaulted over the wall. Quickly, I realized that these people were malignant Christian crusaders that believed Jerusalem should just be for Christians. They were trying to take the holy land! In an instant, we were swept up in a wave of horror. Soldiers stabbed Jews, releasing heart wrenching cries. Crusaders spit on the Western Wall and stomped on holy books. A large, hairy man came towards us with a look of hate on his face.
     He grabbed Jacob and hoisted him up by the throat. Suddenly, I snapped out of my trance. I jammed the mans nose into his skull, just as my self-defense coach had taught me. He dropped my friend and sneered at me. I dished out three swift upper cuts to his jaw, and he fell with a thud. Turning to the disheartened Jews, I gave an angry cry. "Are you going to sit here and let these Christians trample on your faith?" I yelled. "All three faiths of the book should have an equal claim to Jerusalem." Men and women stood and brushed themselves off with fiery determination. They grabbed broken boards and bricks from the street, making weapons out of junk.
     The make-shift army started down the road, where crusaders had started a bonfire with copies of the Torah and Qur'an. I joined them. Even though I'm an atheist, I still believe in religious equality. We stopped a group of crusaders in their tracks. " Jerusalem should be shared." Jacob said. "Stop destroying symbols of our faith. We are very similar." With loud battle cries, we rushed towards the fight. Blood was being shed by Jews and Christians alike. Sadly, I shook my head and zapped back to my New York Condo.
     To late, I had realized that the right way to settle religious arguments did not include dead bodies. Wars between faiths had been going on for centuries, but it didn't have to be this way. Instead of suiting my friends up for a fruitless battle, I should have organized a peaceful negotiation. I did understand, however, that beliefs were worth fighting for. I just wished we could all get along. Confused, I went to bed, leaving the heavy thinking to the scholars.