Henry’s Blog

Archives Yes, of course, it’s love.  But the honeymoon lasts until it suddenly ends, and every couple can remember the occasion that signaled the dawn of a new era, post honeymoon, and the beginning of a minor or major scuffle for control. It could be at any significant point in the relationship: the engagement, the wedding, the first shopping trip, the arrival of the first baby….  Charlie and Debbie were madly in love. The engagement

I’m Just A Little Kid. By Henry Regehr

Posted by Henry on  January 10, 2021
Archives On a cold prairie winter day, I was walking the long way home from my grade two class when a team of Clydesdales, pulling a farm box wagon on winter runners, passed me on the snowy road. To a small seven-year-old, these horses were massive creatures with broad backs, great muscled legs.  Just next to me were their huge plodding hoofs that left tracks as large as our dinner plates. I was awe-struck and

“An Arresting Story”. By Henry Regehr

Posted by Henry on  January 4, 2021
Archives At two o’clock in the morning my wife announced that it was time to hurry to the maternity ward of St. Joseph’s hospital in Vancouver. Everything had been prepared, the overnight case was packed, the doctor had been called, the ’54 Bel Air Chev was gassed up and we were on our way. The quiet streets allowed us to make the trip with efficiency and we arrived in good time. My wife was gently

“No, Mr. Wishard…” By Henry Regehr

Posted by Henry on  December 29, 2020
Archives Bob Newhart immeasurably raised the public image of driving instructors when he unveiled his famous monologue about those brave souls who “face death in a thousand ways and never know if they will return home at night”. In 1955 I started my summer job, driving the famous white Joe Vine Diving School cars with their dual controls around Winnipeg, and Bob Newhart understood. “No, Mr. Wishard, you can’t make a left turn on this

“The Pain of Phantom Guilt”. by Henry Regehr

Posted by Henry on  December 26, 2020
Archives David and I met at Tim Horton’s where we had our regular coffee and every morning we compared notes about our activities and interests. He was a photographer by hobby and truck driver by profession. He had a lively sense of humor and a pleasant smile that spread easily over his bearded face. The conversation, on this particular Monday, now a long time ago, had been friendly and casual until he said, “I was

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