Whan that the Fab Four wexen old and sere, Left are but Paul Macca and Ringo Stere. Of Dave Clark’s Five, some looken back to land, Cast by the Mersey on the salté sand. Now Gerry hath a pacing-heart of steel, And Herman as a hermit can you feel; Old Manfred Mann goth halting on his way, And Animals be vermin, sooth to say. Young Hank with Senior sang of yore, I gesse, Whose cheating heart was cold in his distresse. And Natalie with Nat, her father dere, Duetted loud, and wo

David Sherman When is it enough? When is it too difficult to breathe, when does the blood not boil but evaporate, the brain exhausted, the will buried under the weight? Maybe when we long for the vacuousness of Ozzie and Harriet, the innocence of the twin beds of Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore, when sports was about sports not investment banking. And grok was not an exploitative tool pitched by a man without a soul but the sound we made choking on a peach pit. Maybe when

Common sense is genius dressed in its working clothes. — Ralph Waldo Emerson Common sense is instinct. Enough of it is genius. — George Bernard Shaw It is a thousand times better to have common sense without education than to have education without common sense. — Robert Green Ingersoll The approach of fall signals the arrival of election season in many places, from municipal and school board votes here on Vancouver Island where I live, to the hotly contested Oct. 5 provincia