self indulgent
I'm just feeling blog self indulgent today.
I wrote the LJ people to see if they can tell me which styles are available that permit my blog face to have a list of blog links and how do I get the capabilitiy of filing entries under themes.
It's such a cold rainy grey day here, that I didn't bother to change out of my pajamas and house clogs when I took out with the garbage and walked up the street to a bar for a cappucino.

I have Leah on my mind.. I now know when and where she was born, when and where her parents married, how old they were when they married, that the young family once lived in Los Alamitos, CA and that M is definitly her middle initial. I know that Bill was 41 years old when he died.
I'm waiting/hoping that someone kind and generous and helpful will respond back to me with help they offer using their people search skills and programs.

My brother brought up the possibility that Leah may not be hot at all, on seeing or hearing from ME after 30 years...

Leah is most likely presently living in Rio Rancho, a town outside ABQ. She had lived in ABQ at several addresses. She has almost always used her middle initial to distinguish herself from other Leah McFarlands.

It occurs to me that it is not unlikely so many failed attempts in my quest to find her, are tiresome to blog readers, readers that never met her and/or never knew her Dad. Oh well. It is MY quest after all.

My NY bro gave me a snapshot of Leah posing with her Dad in Disneyland during a trip we took there in the early 70s, last time I visited him in NY.

All my "incredible collection of love letters" that Bill wrote me are gone. 11 or 12 years ago I was stupid and let a friend convince me I should get rid of them. The friend's philosophy and MANY people maintain this philosophy, was IF you have emotionally packed memories from the past, block out the thoughts of the past, get rid of any evidence of what may stimulate your feelings, Don't talk about it, don't look there..

When Gillian and I were living in another neighborhood, Trastevere, the man who had sold me cigarettes almost daily when I'd lived in my previous address, point blank shot dead, my friend's babysitter's roomate, at the gelato shop she worked at around the corner from our apartment. First time I ever knew both the victim and perpetrator of a homicide. I couldn't help but read the ensuing newspaper reports of the murder. Angered that the Italian press classified the murder as a love crime, I recounted the story to another friend. He said, don't talk about it, don't look there, as if talking about anything difficult or ugly or cruel creates bad kooties.

The reason I mention this is YES, some people do believe in bad kooties, or come from the Better to not delve school of emotionally painful circumstance or history. Actually this school is to credit for my Finding Leah quest in the first place.
Her mother, Donna Ibbitson (sp.Ibbotson?) Mcfarland Weber wanted to protect 12 year old Leah from reminders of her Dad, after he'd shot himself in the head. Me, at the time recently turned 15 (like Gil Beans!) I was considered to be just such a type of reminder, and so her mother forbid Leah and I to contact one another.

Thirty years, I hope, is a long enough time to grow a bit. Atleast, it's long enough to have had the possibility to grow whether or not people have made personal decisions to do so or not.

Maybe, Leah would like to know someone who knew her Dad, as she did, as a child. He was an amazing man. VERY smart, VERY funny, VERY talented,
VERY wild, VERY articulate, VERY spontaneous, and VERY VERY loving. He ADORED Leah. Leah was his greatest joy in life.

Maybe the pain of suffering the loss of him because of his suicide, would overwhelm Leah's curiousity or willingness to face people that loved him.
When I find her, I don't plan on being pushy... I just want to say, I'm here, I've been looking for you, and I've wanted to know you. I'm sorry that our friendship became restricted when we were so young, your father was a fine man, and of course, his suicide wasn't our fault.

I don't have to see her, though I'd like to meet her. I could write my say easily enough in a letter, if she doesn't want to meet me. But I'd like her to know that she CAN see me, or talk to me if she wants to.

I'm going to find Leah, and I'm going to cry when I do. I'd like to bring her some flowers.