In 1976, my brother lived in San Antonio, about a five-hour drive from here. He taught school, and when winter break arrived, he called me on a Sunday afternoon to ask if I would pick him up at Dallas Love Field Airport.

Since his plane was about to leave San Antonio, he arrived in Dallas before I did. When I picked him up, he stowed his things (including my Christmas gift) in the trunk of my car.

As we often did, we hit the mall the next day to visit the bookstore and record shop. After all, if you have books and music, what else do you need? Every time I selected an album, he offered a reason for me not to buy it.

George Harrison’s Greatest Hits? “You already have most of the songs on the album already.” Electric Light Orchestra’s A New World Record. “There’s really only one good song.” After several selections, I think I finally settled on an album by Heart.

Christmas arrived a few days later. It wasn’t hard to guess he’d given me albums (oh, the days of vinyl), but which ones? Yep, Geroge Harrison’s Greatest Hits, A New World Record, and Fleetwood Mac (their 1975 album).

I already had the single of “Rhiannon” but listening to that album made me a lifelong fan. With songs like “Say You Love Me,” “Monday Morning,” and my personal favorite, “Over My Head,” how could I not be?

While much of the world idolized Stevie Nicks, especially with the 1977 release of Rumours, and the single, “Dreams,” my favorite was Christine McVie. I once desired to be a rock star and Christine epitomized everything I wanted. She could sing, write music, and play the keyboards. (I took piano lessons but can’t carry a tune. Not even in a bucket.)

I dressed a lot like Christine. Not so much because I idolized her, but because it was the fashion in the late ’70s. Once my brother said, “You look like someone in Fleetwood Mac.” I considered that a compliment.

Fleetwood Mac in 1977. Left to right, Mick Fleetwood, Christine McVie, John McVie, Stevie Nicks, and Lindsey Buckingham. (Public Domain.)

Christine McVie passed away last week at the age of 79 after a short illness. We’re losing a lot of the “good ones” from those days. I admit to tearing up when I heard the news.

The world will miss you, Christine McVie. Rest in peace, Songbird.