Do not read this if you have not watched all of “Mad Men” Season Six – spoilers ensue.

I’ve just finished watching the season finale of “Mad Men.” Among all of the other moves and changes in the air, actress Megan Draper (Jessica Paré) — the “child bride” of our antihero, Don Draper — is poised to move to L.A. to investigate “all these opportunities in Hollywood.” Thinking about the timing of this, and what Hollywood was cranking out in the late 60s and 70s, I predict that the Divine Ms. Megan is going to be a smash hit in tinsel town. Why? Apparently she’s got the acting chops — she’s holding her own on a hit soap opera — and (speaking of chops) I predict that her interesting-looking mouth is going to win her all the grittiest roles. It was right about the late 60s and early 70s that Hollywood started recognizing the value of the imperfect face, and 1970s actresses were notoriously quirky in this regard. Karen Black, who was glorious in the very dark “Nashville” (1975), had a crossed eye. The effect added an authentic note to her strange-girl characters and epitomized the off-set feel of the era.

Films of the 70s were all about the unconventional, the antihero. As one writer put it, “films began to reflect the disenfranchisement brought by the excesses of the past twenty years.” Post-Vietnam, directors of the time were willing to take an unflattering look at America as they had never done before, and their honest look into the face of a country gone mad was reflected in their casting choices. Sure, Catherine Deneuve was still around to reflect mid-century’s infatuation with the perfect, cool, icy blonde, but many of the major award-winning films of the 70s starred actresses who might not have had a chance in an earlier era. In the 1970s, Glenda Jackson was nominated for four Academy Awards and won two. She was mighty in talent, but no classical beauty.

Sally Field, who won every award under the sun for 1979′s “Norma Rae,” was more cute than glamorous (and we saw her sweat on screen!), as was Diane Keaton, who took home all the awards in 1977′s “Annie Hall.”

Marsha Mason, another plain powerhouse, was nominated for several Oscars in the 1970s and “Cinderella Liberty” earned her a Best Actress Golden Globes statuette.

I predict that Megan Draper — or Megan Calvet, if she wants to see her birth name in lights — is going to be a casting director’s dream as she crosses the threshold into this newer, darker Hollywood. I can see her cast opposite Al Pacino, John Cazale, Steve McQueen, Jack Nicholson, Peter Fonda or any of the other Bad Boys of the time. That is, of course, unless she finds herself competing for roles against Lauren Hutton

or Ali McGraw — two “dentally different” actresses who drew some juicy roles at the time AND garnered admiration for owning their uniqueness.

1970s Hollywood was all about relentless honesty, and Megan Calvet Draper is going to fit right in. Don Draper, however, should stay in New York.

When I first met my partner, Neal, back in 1988, during one of our marathon talks he described his goal of not simply “eating the hamburger,” but “eating the hell out of the hamburger” — in other words, not just enjoying, but enjoying to the fullest. It puts me in mind of bumper-sticker advice that was popular a few years back: “Life’s journey is not to arrive at the grave safely in a well preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways, totally worn out, shouting, ‘WOW . . . What a ride!’” Used up. Maximum enjoyment. Years later, Neal and I splurged on a pricey dinner while taking a riverboat cruise. As the waiter served our meals, Neal and I made a pact to eat as slowly as possible, not only savoring each bite but taking turns describing the flavors and textures to each other. Looking back, I realize that was our attempt to totally immerse ourselves, extracting the essence of the Experience.

I’ve thought about this concept a lot over the years. How does one go about fully appreciating something? I think our unspoken quest to do this underlies our obsession with cameras. There have been times when I have been looking at something of exquisite beauty — a cloud formation, an intensely-colored rainbow streaking across a pewter-gray sky — and I have actually caught myself in the process of yearning for ways to fully capture and embrace everything I was seeing. Sometimes that yearning manifests in the wish that I could take a photo, but even that would not preserve the perfect aching moment of raw, lived experience.

As I write this, my family has gathered in the East Bay from several corners of the United States in order to carry out two tasks: to mourn the death of my sister, who was taken from us suddenly eight days ago, and to celebrate Christmas as enthusiastically as mourners can. Last night we were all at my parents’ house in Pinole and I as I looked from face to face — my son, my grandson, my nephews, my nieces, my Mom and Dad, my brother — that old feeling came to visit: How can I fully appreciate the wonder of this experience, that we are all together, that I can actually reach out and touch my niece who lives in Tennessee, someone I can normally only keyboard with? What would that look like, that deep appreciation? Walking around the room and holding each family member, gazing into their eyes for long minutes? They’d think I lost my mind.

I don’t have an answer. The result is that every time I am in a moment of Grave Importance — beholding beauty in nature or sitting in a room full of loved ones — I always feel a spine-scratching anxiety, something like the inner voice whispering, “Remember this, this is important, soak it up, take it in.” But I’m never sure I’ve enjoyed it enough, certainly not in proportion to its monumental import.

I believe that our inability to express our love as fully as we feel it manifests not only in our desire to capture our feelings on camera (or, as artists and poets know, on canvas or in verse) but also in our desire to merge with the object of our adoring gaze. And I’m not referring to intimate merging (although loving partners will know that yearning). Many times I’ve been out in nature and have felt such a surge of gratitude for the beauty around me that I wanted to become one with the landscape. You think tree-huggers are weird? I think they’re just acting out that primal dilemma: “I don’t know how to love you enough but that’s not going to stop me from trying.”

This morning there are photos of Christmas Eve pasted all over Facebook, attempts at capturing last night’s gathering. And I’m glad we have the photos. I’m glad we have the memories. It’s just that I’m still working on a way of extracting the essence of all that love and beauty in the moment that it surrounds me. I still don’t know how to do it. What’s worse, looking back over this blog piece, I realize I don’t even know how to write about it.

As a young girl I was involved with both Camp Fire Girls (now the more inclusively named “Camp Fire”) and Job’s Daughters. Although neither was strictly a religious organization, both had strong overtones along those lines, which probably accounts for the deeply felt spiritual connection I hold to this day.

Lately, because of Facebook, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to my Camp Fire days. Someone created a Camp Seabow page — Camp Seabow was Camp Fire’s summer camp and my annual playground near Laytonville, California — and those of us who shared early memories of camping and Camp Fire in general have gathered there to post photos, remembrances, and updates. Recently, someone posted the eight “Laws of Camp Fire.” As a young girl I dutifully recited these (and even sang them, because a truncated version became our anthem) without giving them much deep thought. But this morning I took the time to examine each one:

Worship God – We’re free to interpret this one, and I hear it as a call to have some sort of spiritual practice, even if that means sitting on a beach contemplating the wonder of it all.

Seek Beauty – This law encourages us to “look for the good in all people, places, things and nature” — a wisdom I can’t argue with.

Give Service – This one reminds me of one of my favorite bumper stickers: “Get involved. The world is run by those who show up.”

Pursue Knowledge – The law in full reads: “Try new things. Experiment with a new skill. Learn more about something you already know.” Excellent, and I would add, “Pursue higher education,” because I believe in its power.

Be Trustworthy – It would be difficult to have a good life without abiding by this.

Hold onto Health – I had a major revelation about ten years ago: “Life is energy.” Put not-so-simply, without good, lively energy to see us through the day, life can be hellish. Maximize your chances by doing all the things They tell us to do and avoiding the enemies of vitality. You know the list.

Glorify Work – This law reads “Do the best you can with everything you do. Be proud of your work. Finish what you start.” I would modify it somewhat with an encouragement to “prepare yourself for and then seek work you feel passionate about.” A hated job is a one-way path to misery and despair.

And, lastly:

Be Happy – A lot of people get confused about this one, wondering how they can be happy when there is so much to be miserable about. If you’re still unsure, with an open heart and a willingness to entertain a different point of view, Google “happiness quotes” and start reading. Here’s a good resource. Many wise and learned men and women have had much to say over the centuries about the wisdom of choosing happiness. Acknowledging that it can be a choice is the first step to achieving joy.

I learned quite a bit about quite a lot when I was a Camp Fire Girl: how to lay a fire, how to swim, how not to rush the process of toasting marshmallows (useful as metaphor), and how to work towards something I find meaningful: in those days, achievement patches. Along the way, and especially as I grew older, I wish I’d given more attention to the eight Laws. Anyone seeking a brief guide to a good life would find these a step in the right direction. Nicely done, Camp Fire.

Last night I dreamed of a community of women, all supporting each other.

It seemed like every woman I’ve ever met was in the dream. In it, I drifted through a series of vignettes.

In one “scene,” one of my counseling program classmates was on the phone interviewing for an internship while a group of supporters stood around her offering encouragement and advice.

In other scene, a woman running an employment agency announced to all of us present that 80% of the women she had hired were moving away from husbands to start their new lives (all the women applauded).

In another snapshot, something bad had happened to me and some women-friends were writing affirmations and healing prayers on a whiteboard to give me protection.

It was the strangest, most wonderful dream I’ve ever had.

Camp Seabow Songbook
A Work in Progress by Ann Clark [formerly Patty Clark]
From my memories at Camp Seabow, @1962 – 1967

Some of the following songs were sang only on the bus or in the dining hall (Noble Duke of York), some were exclusive to Camp Seabow, some were simply old folk songs, and I suspect that some of them came from Mrs. Armand’s childhood. How many do YOU remember?

*

She sat on the veranda and ate chocolates, ate chocolates, ate chocolates,
she sat on the veranda and ate chocolates, ate chocolates.
He sat down beside her and smoked his cigar [repeat etc.]
She sat there beside him and played her guitar…
He told her he loved her but oh how he lied…
She told him she loved him, but she did not lie…
They went to be married, but she up and dies…
He went to the funeral, but just for the ride…
She went up to heaven and flip flop she flied…
He went down below her and sizzled and fried…
The moral of this tale is never to lie…
Or you, too, may perish and sizzle and fry…

(more…)