On my forty-first birthday-today!--I realize that I truly am at the half-way point (I hope!) and it will be interesting in my elder years to see what I was thinking and feeling at this time in my life. Check out many of the lovely altered book websites online for inspiration, techniques, and ideas.
Karen Roberts

Celebrating Birthday
Altered Book Pages
by Karen Roberts

December 23 2005

The Feast of Larentalia by Karen Roberts

collage by Karen Roberts

The men had been gambling all night. Drink was flowing freely, and bets were made unwisely, recklessly. Hercules was about to leave with a satchel of gold coins, the coins he had neatly removed from the possession of the others, especially the man called Lemus. Lemus owned the hall, and all that was in it. He was known to drink, swilling profits from his business, and also to be ill-tempered and often violent with his employees, especially the women. Lemus offered women to his customers along with drinks and gaming. These women came from the surrounding villages, daughters of men who had sat too long at his tables, and lost. Having no way to pay their debts, they allowed their daughters to go into servitude for Lemus, even as their wives cried and tore their hair. Lemus sat now at the table, one of these unfortunate girls on his lap, and stared at Hercules.

"What, Hercules, you will not give me fair opportunity to recoup my losses? Stay and gamble a while longer." His eyes gleamed unpleasantly.

"I have given you opportunity aplenty, Lemus, and I have seen your empty pockets. You have no more for me to take from you, and I am a merciful man."

"I bid this girl, Hercules. If you win, she is yours. If you lose, you give all that is in your satchel to me."

Hercules was tired, and his patience was wearing thin. But he had watched this young woman all evening. She sat silently, a fading yellow bruise on her left cheek, and walked slowly up the stairs with various men as Lemus bade her. She looked to be about 17.

"All right, then, for the woman." One more time the dice were handed around, and Lemus ended his night as he began it, in a spectacular losing streak. Hercules took the girl's hand and said,

"You are mine now, little one.

" A tear fell from her eye, to be bought and sold in such a way. Mutely, she followed him from the hall. He looked her over.

"Now, to clean you up a bit." It was coming on morning in Rome, and Hercules took the woman to a bathhouse, and giving her over to the maid in charge, bade her, "Bathe and anoint this lady. I will be back with swiftness." He went to the house of a merchant he knew, and purchased several fine dresses, a coat, and sandals. At the last moment, he purchased a necklace of fine lapis, and tossed it in among the wares. He returned to the bathhouse. He was beckoned in to the antechamber, where he found the woman waiting. She stood, trembling, and dropped the sheet she wore wrapped around her.

"No, girl, I am not here for that. Cover yourself." She wrapped the sheet about her thin body. "Here are some things you will need. You are quite a pleasant creature, now you are bathed. I bid you take these things, and find yourself a husband, one who will look after you. With these gifts, you shall make your way." He drew out the fine garments, and handed her a purse filled with coins. She stared at him. "I don't know why myself, daughter, but I am bidden to save you. Go in peace."

She grasped his hand, and then kissed it. "I am Larenta," she said, dropping her eyes shyly.

"Go and make a new life, Larenta," Hercules said.

The new cook stepped into the pantry. She saw a shadow, crouching behind the butter crock. She heard sobbing.

"There, now, don't take on. Lady Larenta is a kind mistress, that's why you've been brought to us. I know you've been misused something fierce, but you'll be safe here. Now come out and help me bake the bread."

A fine lady sat at the head of the table. She smiled kindly at the new scullery maid who sat a fresh hot loaf of bread at her elbow. The girl walked back through the door to the kitchen.

"A new pet, my dear?" her husband asked.

"Another unfortunate girl from the Hall of Lemus, Tarutius. There are so many. She seems particularly haunted."

"Well, my darling, you shall have her healed in no time." And he caressed her neck, about which hung a lapis necklace of exceeding quality. She smiled up at him, remembering the day he took her hand in marriage, so smitten was he by her beauty. Over the years, she had spun for him, chapter by chapter, the story of her life, up to the point at which they had met. As a Senator, he had seen much of the world, and was neither shocked nor repelled by her tales. Rather, he was amazed that despite his wife's harsh history, beauty and kindness still defined her. His highest admiration was for Hercules, who had freed his gentle wife.

Larenta often strolled in the courtyard of her home, sitting by quiet reflecting pools and lively fountains. Her gardens were full of rosemary, so that she might always remember the life that came before. Bouquets sat on each table, filling her home with a pungent and healing scent. The young women and boys that were rescued by Larenta and transformed by her kind ministrations often had a sprig of rosemary tattooed over their left breast when they left her household, as a symbol of their allegiance to her and a sign of her continued protection. They often worked in other households-a poor profession to be sure, but one less dangerous and degrading than the House of Remus, and warm and full, they slept safely, married, and had children. The kindness of these folk became legend, and soon the Lares, as they were known, were elevated to the status of household gods and goddesses, and were worshiped as protectors. This diaspora spread the word of their kind and benevolent protectress.

Time passed, and Larenta grew older. Her husband had died a few years earlier, leaving her to manage his fortunes, which had grown exponentially over the years. She was a wise and beautiful crone, walking the gardens in her white gowns of linen, slightly bent over a cane. One day, her servants found her in the garden, lying peacefully on the ground near the rosemary bed. As they ran to her, a cloud of butterflies rose from her body. They bowed their heads and wept.

Her funeral was a simple but regal affair, and was attended by the hundreds of women and men she had helped over the years. They spoke with deep feeling of her kindness, her wisdom, and her belief in the possibility for change. After the funeral rites were over and her body was laid to rest in a casket fragrant with rosemary, the crowd dispersed.

That evening, as the barristers and senators gazed with avarice at her elegant home, lovely gardens, and objects of art and culture, Larenta's solicitor read the following statement.

"The good men of Rome, having seen fit to buy and sell me and my kinswomen and kinsmen on the street as mere chattel, deserve nothing but my pity, for their souls are dark. The common people of the city are my lifesblood, and they shall inherit my fortunes. My home shall become a hostel and school for the weary, ill, and uneducated; my lands shall provide homes for all who have passed through this house over the years. They shall live here free of interference and harassment. My solicitor will handle the particulars. Live in peace, my children."

The wealthy men of the city argued and harangued into the night, but to no avail. Larenta had schooled herself well over the years, and her plans were solid. The servants of the kitchen had overheard the reading of the will, and quickly spread the word throughout the city. The next morning, the walls of Larenta's home were strewn with flowers and sprigs of rosemary, and the gardens were full of her friends and protégées. "

On this day, and forever after, we celebrate Larenta, and her generous spirit. Larenta, Larenta!"

And thus the feast of Larentalia was born.*

* While Larenta is a real Roman Goddess, there are numerous stories and myths about her ascendancy to the role. This is how I imagined it might have come about, based on one such story.

About Festivus

Festivus is the holiday made famous on Seinfeld. It's an antidote to the commercialism and excess of our current Christmas traditions. It's "A Festivus for the Rest of Us!"

Imagine my pleasure when I found out it is celebrated on MY birthday, December 23rd.

Activities

Find a god, goddess or other historical character and read about their ascension into legend. Usually the facts are loose, and in the case of the deities, often several stories exist. Take the one that catches your fancy, and write a story about it, as though you were there when it happened. Allow your imagination to roam free.

Make a collage based on the story you wrote. An interesting collage technique is to "google" your main theme, and follow various links as they pop up. For example, when I was searching for information on Larenta, came across the moth Larentia Clavaria, so I threw that into the image, as well as the dice, which figured prominently in one of the origin myths of Larenta, as well as in my fictional tale. The googling technique leads to sort of a free association process for collage work.

Create an altered book for your own birthday or for your unbirthday if you feel like making a book for the sake of it.

Karen Roberts