The Great Equalizer

 As a teen growing up in the 1970s, I went to a lot of rock concerts from Bruce Springsteen and Styx to Foreigner and Tom Petty to Kansas, Queen and many others. Back then there was little access to rock stars. There was no following them on Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. They made very few appearances on television outside of The Midnight Special or Don Kirschner’s Rock Concert. Most news about rock stars came through magazines like Creem, Circus, and Rolling Stone. Consequently, rock stars were treated as . . . well, as rock stars. They were lionized, placed on pedestals, and lived larger than life in the minds of most fans.

For instance, graffiti in London in the mid-1960s proclaimed about Eric Clapton that “Clapton is God.” John Lennon of The Beatles stirred controversy when he cheekily stated in March 1966 interview that The Beatles were “More popular than Jesus.” Led Zeppelin’s lead singer Robert Plant was proclaimed “The Golden God.”

 

Fast forward four decades, and many of these rock stars are still touring. Several years ago, Jergel’s Rhythm Grille in Warrendale, brought Lou Gramm, Foreigner’s lead singer, to town, and we happened to get tickets. Before the concert began, I went to the Ladies Room, and as I left, I had to pass through a vestibule and glass doors to get back into the main room. And guess who held the door for me? Lou Gramm. When I got back to our seats, I told my husband about it and laughed that had that happened 40 years ago, I’d have been delirious, but now he was just an average-looking middle-aged man, and I just said thanks.

We saw The Who about five years ago, and although Pete Townsend didn’t jump as high while strumming his guitar and Roger Daltrey laughed about how his voice would probably crack when he screamed on We Don’t Get Fooled Again, the concert was great. 

In 2019, Phil Collins came to town. He can no longer play the drums for health reasons, and on the big screen with his glasses and bald head, he looked like my dad singing In the Air Tonight. But Phil still had it and made the concert fun and amazing.

Rod Stewart came to town a few years ago too. Everyone in the crowd had a good laugh, when on the big screen, the cover of a Rolling Stone issue with a picture of him in 1978 appeared. It was published when his song Da Ya Think I’m Sexy came out. He quoted the article back then where he said he didn’t want to be in his 60s and still singing that song. It would be ridiculous. He laughed, and said, “Guess what, I’m 72 and I’m singing it tonight.”

This past October 4, I saw The Rolling Stones for the first time at Heinz Field, and although Mick Jagger is nearing 80, he still strutted, posed and rocked the stadium. At one time, I looked at my husband and said, "Forty-five years ago, did you ever think you'd be in your sixties and watching Mick Jagger still performing?" 

 The view from the cheap seats.

But with all these concerts there was a difference from the ones I attended when I was in my youth. From Phil Collins to Mick Jagger—all of them seemed to be more humble, relaxed and happier. In fact, Mick quipped, that sadly, he hadn’t had much time to spend in Pittsburgh; he didn’t get a chance to go “to the Warhol and gaze at myself.” It’s not often that an entertainer who comes to town has a portrait hanging in a museum. But rather than being haughty about it, he seemed to be amused by it all. 

Time catches up with everyone.  These rock stars are no longer gods but mortals just like the rest of us. Aging is the great equalizer. And I find myself liking and appreciating these performers even more now that we have become acquainted with their human sides. 

This article originally appeared in the November issue of Northern Connection magazine.

What Does 60 Look Like?

I turn 60 this month. I had to go back and look at those digits and ponder them after I typed them. They look so foreign. Me 60? Recently, when people have learned that I was coming up on a milestone birthday, several have kindly quipped, “You don’t look 60!” But after the third person told me that, I thought, Well, what exactly does 60 look like?

When I was a kid, 60 looked ancient. That was my grandparents’ age. When I went to work, and a I was PYT (Pretty Young Thing), 60 looked like those old ladies in cardigan sweaters on the executive floor. Now, that I’ve arrived at 60, it doesn’t seem that old. Here’s a little secret for all those not yet 60: it’s not that bad. Sure, I’m not as svelte or supple as I used to be, but on the inside, I feel the same as I did when I was 16—only a whole lot smarter. I know a lot more; I figured a lot more things out; I’ve achieved a lot more; and I’ve come to learn what is important in life. I think you spend the first 20 years of your life becoming you and then the next 40 creating and living your life—getting married, having children, building a career— and then all of a sudden you’re rounding the bend and sliding into third at 60.

If I could go back now and visit my 20-year-old self, I think young me would be delighted and relieved as to how I have ended up. I’ve been blessed with so much and by so many people, it’s hard to mourn the passing of the years.

As I mentioned in a previous column, I was fortunate to go on a Caribbean cruise (before the coronavirus hit), and the ship was primarily filled with passengers who were 50 and up, and let me tell you, they were having the time of their lives. Sure, there were a lot of people on canes or were wearing knee braces or didn’t exactly look like Sports Illustrated swimsuit models, but they were enjoying themselves, with a sense of they had nothing left to prove. They’ve married, had children, had careers, faced obstacles, become grandparents and survived. There’s no time to look back only time to enjoy the here and now and make the most of what’s left of your life.

Last summer, my granddaughter Sadie, who was three at the time, was over at my house, and she was playing at me feet. I was wearing shorts, and she looked at my right calf that has a varicose vein that runs down the inside like a lightning bolt, leaving a constellation of three clusters of spider veins. She touched one of the spider veins and smiled up at me. “Grandma,” she said, “I really like the blue spots on your leg. They’re beautiful.”

I chuckled. Only a three-year-old could think a spider vein beautiful. “Why, thank you,” I said.

What does 60 look like?

A lot like a varicose vein. In one sense it’s an unmistakable sign of advancing age, and on the other its simply beautiful.

This originally appeared in the April 2020 edition of Northern Connection magazine.

Happy Mother's Day

Where Was I . . .Being Them

This originally appeared in the May 2018 of Northern Connection magazine.

By Janice Lane Palko

“What is that on your foot?” I was around seven years old when I asked my mother that question. “It’s a callus,” she said. “You’ll have them when you’re older.” No way, I thought. My feet are never going to look like that.

“What’s that thing?” I was around eight years old when I asked my grandmother that question. “It’s a needle threader,” she said. “I can’t see the eye of the needle anymore. You slip this little metal loop through the needle’s eye, and then put the thread though the loop. Then you pull the loop through the eye, and it threads the needle. When you get older and can’t see as well, you’ll need one.” No way, I thought to myself. My eyes are never going to get that bad.

“Oh, my leg,” moaned my great-grandmother as she came down the steps. “What’s wrong with your leg?” I was about 10 when I asked that. “Things wear out when you get older,” she said. “I hope you don’t get knees like mine.” No chance, of that I thought. I’m never getting old.

Never say never.

Flash forward to today where I regularly remove calluses from my heels, and I now use a needle threader. By the time, you read this, I will be home recovering from knee surgery. I tore a meniscus in my left knee seven years ago, and after babying it and enduring pain off and on, an MRI recently revealed that I now have an acute meniscus tear and insufficiency fractures, for which the surgeon plans to perform a subchondroplasty. The procedure entails drilling into my leg bones (yikes!) and injecting them with calcium phosphate, which will then harden and repair my bones.

As I was limping down the stairs the other day after receiving that diagnosis, I felt a stab of pain in my knee. “Oh, my leg,” I reflexively yelled, and then stopped in my tracks as I flashed backward four and half decades and realized that I have now become my great-grandmother. And not only her but my grandmother and my mother.

But then it occurred to me that maybe that is not so bad. My vows to never to turn into them was a revulsion to aging, which I don’t think anyone embraces, and not the people they are and were. My mom, grandmothers, and great-grandmother were all loving, kind and giving–women who would sacrifice anything for their loved ones.

So yeah, even though I don’t like getting older, I’m okay with turning into them because being them is a pretty admirable way to be.

Happy Mother’s Day!