Sick? Go see the doctor!

On Oct. 13, I was in the midst of a pretty bad battle with the dreaded flu bug. Rick Springfield was in the state doing a signing for his New York Times best seller "Late, Late at Night."

The stars weren't exactly aligned for me to go. I had taken the day off from work, but I really needed some rest and Mark was off to Home Depot to fill out all the requisite paperwork for his new job and it didn't seem like there would be enough time to get 'er done.

But then a text message, "I'm on my way back ... let's go see, Rick." And despite some reservations about making my first love ill (not to mention scads of loyal fans), I prepared to go. I wasn't sure we'd even make it, since the signing started at 1 p.m. and that's pretty much the time we left our abode.

We did get to Bookends (so named because it's at the end of New Jersey? OK, only Ridgewood) in time. And I dutifully bought my book and got on the line to wait my turn. We winded around and around and around, but I felt sicker and sicker as we worked our way to the front.

There had been a bit of a verbal scrum with Mark during the course of the wait. He wanted to take a picture with me and Rick, but I didn't want to because I 1.) looked like death and he looked like a million bucks, 2.) had my glasses on, 3.) had no makeup on and 4.) did I mention, I looked like death? But he talked me into it -- weakened condition!!! -- by saying that we could always keep it just for us and have no one else see it.

Now the first time I got to meet Rick, it was a total surprise. Sis and brother-in-law and I were going to a show and there was a surprise signing set up at a neighboring record store. (Well, surprise to us anyway.) And when it was my turn, I had to walk a bit of a distance from the line to the man. And I just couldn't say anything. So Sis helped me out ... by yelling "Talk!" and that opened up the gates for a flurry of comments.

This time, I don't know if it was my bloodless state of illness, but I didn't freeze up. Gave him my book, told him how to spell my name and moved closer for the picture (ahhhh, he's rubbing my back. Nice, healing Dr. Drake). I can still feel the fabric of his coat.

And then I blurted out the little speech I had prepared, kind of in some semblance of order. During the New York show, I had this realization that maybe Rick's affinity for the likes of Eric Clapton and Jimi Hendrix had been a gateway to my deep love for their music. I told him (the way I remember it, anyway) that I hoped he always included a cover like "Crossroads" or "Fire" in his shows, and I probably loved those artists so much because of the many hours spent in my bedroom air guitaring to his records! I got a nice hearty chuckle at that one too.

And that was it. Short and sweet. And we're back in the truck and I look at the picture that was taken and, hey, it's not half bad actually. Mark said I was beaming for three seconds while it was taken. Well, what kind of cure would you expect from a TV doctor, anyway? ;)