The trick is to extend the ladder so that its feet can be propped far enough from the roof that the bucket will rest on one step at a time without trying to shove her off balance. Not that she's not holding on, but these buckets can be mean once gravity gets a hold on them.
The roller work is very slow. So she listens to Beethoven and Schubert sonatas and gets into it as a kind of meditation. She can spread five gallons in a day. It looks like it's going to require eight gallons -- two coats -- to do the house.
In full sun the roof is unbelievably bright with just the one coat. Risa thinks it looks pretty good the way it is. Maybe just four buckets and call it finished?
She shows it to Beloved. Of course the clouds have come, so that all the roller marks show.
Ugly as sin.
Beloved looks at Risa with her hopeful, trusting eyes. "Do you think ..."
"Yes, yes, " she rushes to reassure. "Two coats. Wouldn't think of leaving a job half done."
Whose is that long white box in the grove? -- Sylvia Plath, Ariel.