Out of darkness comes hope, and out of hope comes an unexpected passion and renewed sense of life ... if he can keep himself alive long enough to enjoy it. Rocket scientist/Star Trek writer/safari warrior/author Chester L. Richards asks: Is nature out to kill us? Maybe not. But someone is.
-Ed., The Mensa Bulletin, March 2023

I’m like a pinball in a pinball machine. I get knocked about a lot. I have been highly entertained and challenged by this, engaging in near-impossible tasks as an engineer on the aerospace frontier. Even better, bouncing around my somewhat eccentric career, I have met some of the most extraordinary people.

But sometimes being a pinball hurts — a lot!

Read more in the March 2023 Mensa Bulletin. A huge thanks from Chester for the delightful graphics they created to illustrate perfectly how his life has ricocheted through adventures personal, professional, and both mind- and soul-expanding.

Welcome to Adventures with Chester L. Richards. Join us as we go on a pioneering adventure. Get inspired by the tale of how my pioneering great-grandfather built part of the I 5 freeway -- while he had a double hernia! You can find the full story, “Great-Grandfather’s Hernia,” the story of the Battle of The Band video -- “In the Mood” -- and many more adventures in my book, From The Potato to Star Trek and Beyond: Memoirs of a Rocket Scientist. Available in print and eBook on Amazon, Barnes and Noble. Print available everywhere online. Or ask at your favorite bookstore. We're also pleased to announce the eBook will be available at your favorite online store soon. Check our books page to find out when.

Periodically Dad Cat would be allowed to roam the neighborhood. Most of the people there were fine with this. But there are always the complainers and they kept pestering the city about Dad Cat. The city fathers put pressure on the breeder to close down his operation. As I say, his difficulty was our opportunity.
 
We reentered the house to see the kittens. There were only two six week old kittens left from this last litter. The breeder brought out one, a reddish-brown striped male. His littermate, a female, was sleeping in the safe room. The breeder told us she hadn’t been weaned yet. Sarah fell instantly in love with this little boy; he was instantly in love with Sarah. While the two of them were communing I had a surprise. Up onto the dining table jumped a little gray ball of fur, who turned out to be the boy’s sister. She immediately pranced up to me and began a romance. I was hooked.
 
We had intended to bring home one kitten. We brought home two. The breeder was concerned about the female, since she was still nursing. He gave me instructions about how to wean her, using a special milk substitute that I could get from the pet store. I wrote down the particulars and we prepared to leave.
 
Consider what that good man must have been feeling. These were the last of his kittens. He clearly was in love with them and this showed in their sweet spirits. It must have broken his heart to let them go. He had done this before, it is true, but these were the last, the end. There could be no more. I hope he saw in us the kind of happy future that was in store for these precious little beings. That would have helped.
 
We installed the kittens in the TV room. This was a small room adjacent to the kitchen which could be closed off to keep the kittens safely confined when we were not present. This was to be their nursery room for a few months. We had no trouble weaning the little female. Really, she weaned herself.
 
“What shall we name them?” I asked Sarah. “Don’t worry,” she replied. “They will soon tell you their names.” And so it was. Misty told us first. Her silver gray coat, and lively disposition, made this name inevitable. Merlin was the only possibility for the little boy, given his incessant curiosity, boldness, and obvious high intelligence. Was there an element of magician in him as well, which is what I associate with the name?
 
How intelligent was he? He was a kitty genius. I am not exaggerating. His creative understanding of spatial relationships is typically seen in a human child only around the age of ten. Let me give one example.
 
It is necessary to know the physical layout confronting Merlin to understand just how incredibly bright he really was. Between the nursery room and the kitchen was a long sight line that gave a view down the hallway to the bedrooms. The kittens in their early exploration could look down this corridor, but they never ventured in that direction. On the other side of the kitchen was the dining room facing the back of the house. The dining room had a sliding glass door that led out onto the patio. Extending to the left from the dining room was the living room, with a fireplace at the far end. The chimney for the fireplace projected out onto the patio and blocked the view down towards the bedroom section of the house.
 
After a few days the kittens began their exploration of the house – very cautiously at first. They poked their noses out of the nursery and advanced a short distance into the kitchen, each day exploring further. Then, one day, at the far end of the dining room, a racoon passed by right on the other side of the glass sliding door. Misty hid from this monster. Bold Merlin galloped through the kitchen and dining room to see what this curiosity was. But by the time he reached the slider the racoon had disappeared around the side of the house. Merlin swiveled around and, for his first time, looked into the living room. Without hesitation he jumped up on the windowsill and continued to track the waddling raccoon. It was his first time up on a windowsill, too. Amazing for him to figure everything out in an instant.
 
But Merlin wasn’t finished. The racoon disappeared around the chimney. Merlin tried leaning up against the glass to see, but it was no go. The raccoon was gone. For a moment Merlin sat thinking about the marvelous apparition he had just seen. He turned to me with a quizzical look on his face. “What was thing, Daddy? Where did it go?” Then the light bulb flashed on! He dashed down the hallway, into the bedroom and up onto the windowsill there. Merlin watched as the raccoon ambled the rest of the way across the yard, climbed the fence and disappeared.
 
I said Merlin was a kitty genius. Consider his astonishing intellectual accomplishment. In a glance he had figured out the layout of the front part of the house and instantly exploited that information to track the passing animal. But more than that, after a moment’s reflection he intuited that there had to be a room down the mysterious hallway, on the other side of the chimney, which would have a window where he could continue to follow the raccoon. Having suddenly realized this he immediately acted. This complex sequence of thought is a classic illustration of a flash of creative insight. And, he was less than two  months old! Merlin truly was intellectually gifted.

Please do visit again to see what happened next with Old Merlin (our First Merlin Cat).

© 2023 Chester L. Richards. All rights reserved.
#cats #Merlin #hunting #stories #catstories #ChesterLRichardsBlog #memoirs #kittens

I was so pleased to receive these prestigious literary awards. Thank you to The BookFest  judges who selected my first book for these honors!

When I was invited to be a speaker at The BookFest® Fall 2022 event I had no idea I would also win these awards. 

My topic, The Adventure of a Lifetime Chat with Chester L. Richards,
was shown on Day 1.

The weekend was packed with authors who are experts in a variety of fields. Talks and panels on Day 1 was aimed at readers. Day 2 was aimed at topics of interest to writers. The weekend also focused on critical issues of our time, including climate change and book banning, with honest discussions of what is happening in the USA and around the world, and what we can all do about these challenges.

There was a plethora of authors and books of all genres to discover. Being among this distinguished group of presenters was indeed an honor for me, and I am grateful to The BookFest for inviting me to participate again. (I first appeared in Spring 2022, in a panel on memoirs, Decoding His Story -- Men Who Write Memoirs.)

If you missed it, no problem. The entire weekend will be streaming 24/7 soon. Check here for the link once it goes live. Or check the link below:

https://www.thebookfest.com/

Welcome back to Adventures with Chester L. Richards on our new YouTube Channel @ChesterLRichards.

Do come with us this time as we go on a racing adventure: “Ford vs Ferrari.”  Learn fascinating facts about the genius behind the legendary Ford GT engine that defeated Ferrari in the 1966 Le Mans, as depicted in the widely acclaimed film starring Matt Damon and Christian Bale, "Ford v Ferrari." Nominated for Best Picture, the film lost to Parasite, but did capture two Oscars: Best Film Editing and Best Sound Editing.

#YouTube #FordVFerrari #LeMans #Adventures #BobPons #ChesterLRichards #RocketScience #Memoirs #Oscars

It must be genetic. That’s the only possible explanation. Of course, this really isn’t an explanation, but it will serve for now.
 
For many placid northern Europeans, people in Mediterranean lands must be baffling: they furiously wave their hands while peculiar noises flow forth from their mouths. Italians are particularly outlandish in this regard. And then there are the Sicilians. If the Italians gesticulate in rhythm with their words, florid Sicilians are a cut above, or below, depending upon your viewpoint. A Sicilian simply cannot talk without his whirling hands. They are what convey his real meaning — the emotional subtleties underlying his words.
 
And Sicilians are very emotional. I should know. For I, too, am Sicilian. And I, too, suffer from this affliction. Or, I once did, though now I suppress my uncontrollable hand waving deliberately. Actually, I am half Sicilian. My maternal grandparents were born and raised on that noble island. My father’s side, New Englanders, passed down gloom. I have suffered a lifelong conflict between these two opposing genetic strains.
 
I well remember the moment when this fundamental Sicilian characteristic was excised from me — out of necessity, of course. In the American society of that era one had to show proper reserve to be taken seriously. Advancement in the world precluded being too Italian, much less Sicilian.
 
Mom did the appropriate surgery. And surgeon she was, for Mom was a skilled and tenacious registered nurse. Given the troubles she had handled in the past, curing my Sicilian affliction was well within her capabilities. Pure Sicilian herself, of course she understood my problem, and almost certainly had undergone a similar discipline.
 
Mom’s operation on me occurred one afternoon when I was particularly excited by some event of the day, talking a mile a minute, pouring out all the wonder I had recently experienced. Mom, with the voice of authority, commanded a cease fire. She grabbed my hands, put them together in her firm grip and said: “Talk.” I opened my mouth and . . . nothing came out! I literally could not say a word without my hands being in motion. I tried. I really did. But nothing.
 
After a bit Mom released my hands and allowed me to speak. Haltingly I was able to convey some of what had excited me, but the emotional fire was gone.
 
After that initial trauma we had several sessions of basic training in American customs and civilized discourse. Dad sat on the sidelines, watching with amusement.
 
Eventually the newfound discipline stuck and I can now usually converse without waving my hands. But sometimes my excitement does get the better of me and I temporarily revert to my Sicilian heritage. Fortunately, my friends let these brief moments of insanity pass without comment.

© 2022 Chester L. Richards. All rights reserved.