We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
It might be stupid, or it might not be as it appears. I used to paint houses when I was in college, so I am more skeptical about this.
On his right hip he either has some work tool strapped there OR his body is covering up some straps on the ladder. Now if the ladder is indeeded strapped to the pillar, it wouldn't necessarily mean he was safe, as a ladder would need to be at a 90 degree angle to be tied firmly onto a pillar that way, and he certainly seems to be leaning forward.
But as a side note, the guy who trained me to paint in the 80s is an old German-American from the WWII generation (he fought on our side though his parents were fresh over from Germany in the 1900s and spoke mostly German at home). Anyway, this little fella stood about 5'4" tall and was built more like a bowling ball than a dancer, but he would climb up the ricketiest ladders and lean out in the most insane postures to get that last little bit of paint onto the edge of the building. And he never fell. People from his generation were less concerned about danger than mine.
A generation less concerned with danger...
I'm from a family like that. I don't consider myself reckless because I'm cautious enough. If you know your limits you can work within them. If you have good balance you can trust yourself. I don't worry about things in general and I'm thankful for that.
About being German. My dad's parents were from Germany only a few years before he was born. Both he and his parents were anxious that he fight, so he joined up with the Canadians earlier than the rest of the Americans. Flew, and was shot down over Germany. He spoke German so he could help the others while he was in POW Camps for 2 years.
That's him, the portrait 'hovering' behind the B-17, on this book cover. Author Le Marchand found my email on an 8th AAF site and --i think due to my availability more than dad's story being especially unique --put him in the book, about a certain aircraft (in two iterations) name and nose art.
My 75 year old German grandpa had to paint the spire on the church he belonged to in the tiny town in which he retired as even the pro painters refused to go up there and do it themselves. I can only wish I was as brave as he. He didn't even think he was doing anything special. Just what needed to be done. I miss him.