Brush with greatness

To say that I am fanatic about all things Fleetwood Mac would be a mild statement. I have no idea how many of their concerts I've been to through the years, but it's well over 30. Come to think of it, I have no idea how many album to tape to CD purchases I've made through those same years but I'm sure if I'd invested that money elsewhere I could retire very soon. Suffice to say that since Rumours, I've spent countless hours of my life inside the music of that band as well as the solo efforts of its members.

For Christmas, two friends who know me very well and have been dragged to several Mac or Stevie Nicks concerts gave me tickets to see Lindsey Buckingham. This should tell you that I am blessed in the generosity of friends department. It was also their brilliant way of saying that they know I want to see him and they support that but no way in hell will they be joining me for a two-hour guitar solo by Lindsey Buckingham. To them, his solos are when they go to the bathroom or buy a beer or walk the venue in search of Advil and ear plugs. To me, well, come on, he's a Guitar God. Those tickets were a great Christmas present. And the concert was Friday night.

He stood on that stage, a blue light behind him, guitar in hand, and sang his new stuff and his old stuff, and some Mac stuff. And I sang and smiled and tapped my toes the whole time. And before I knew what was happening, it was over. But we knew better - the band loves encores - so we ran up to the front of the stage and stood there like faithful disciples awaiting his return. And when he walked back on that stage and started the first notes of Holiday Road, and we were right there, I could have passed out from musical joy. But then he looked right at me and we locked eyes, and although only for a second or two, it was still eye-to eye, and then I really could have passed out. I mean, to lock eyes with Lindsey Buckingham while he's playing his guitar is to connect with a legend.

On Saturday when I called my friend to gush and thank her for the gift, I told her how close I was to him and how we locked eyes and how, well, COOL, that was. Through the phone I could hear her rolling her eyes. She said, Of course he locked eyes with you. He recognized you as the blond stalker who followed them to six shows last year. I'm surprised he didn't point you out to his security team.

Ahem. All I have to say to that is I have never gone to Tulsa to see Captain & Tennille.