The Resurrection of Bucephalus

 

The Resurrection of Bucephalus

“Two dollars and he’s all yours.” The vendor at the Taco Tuesday market gestured toward the broken pieces of ceramic I held in my hands. I found him laying discarded behind boxes of desert figurines: Multi colored Gila monsters, green cactus with shiny yellow blossoms…howling glazed coyotes and Mexican Talavera caught the eye of many a snowbird hoping to find that perfect souvenir; a representation of their winter migration.

I wasn’t a snowbird anymore. I was a bona fide Sonoran desert property owner living in her horse trailer. I didn’t have a house. I didn’t have electricity or plumbing…indoors or out. What I did have was five acres of bare land and big dreams to make it my home.

I wasn’t looking for anything particular as I wandered through the street vendors; most of which set up their wares on the city lot next to Woody’s gas station every Tuesday. The little grey donkey with a blue basket pack lay on his side. A broken leg here – a section of ear and a chipped hoof there. He’d seen better days for sure. I’d seen better days myself.

“Hey guy...I think you need a home even more than I do.” I dug two bucks out of my pocket and handed it to the vendor. He looked at the jumble of ceramic in my hands: “You really want that? I have many nice pieces here, lady…look at this colorful desert tortoise…and here, this beautiful Talavera flower pot! You like?”  I shrugged: “Sure…I like them fine…but I want this one.” I could feel the vendor shaking his head as I walked away. I drove to The Family Dollar, purchased a tube of super glue and a box of Pop-Tarts before heading back to my trailer. Super glue for donkey – Pop-Tarts in case performing cosmetic surgery makes you hungry.  

I spread the pieces of donkey on a table made from an empty CHEWY box and went to work reconstructing the ceramic “equus asinus.” First his leg and hoof so he could stand - then a section of his left haunch and finally, an ear. It was tedious work. A half bottle of glue and a two pack of Pop-Tarts later and it was done.

 

HE’S ALIVE!! An exhilarating moment! A moment comparable to that of Mary Shelley’s Dr. Frankenstein when he glimpsed the first flutter of an eyelash as his creation took its first breath. A creation the good doctor would soon come to loath and reject. A creature who would become the unnamed – a fiend – a monster…a demon! I’ll be damned if that’s going to happen to MY flea market donkey! “I shall call you…”BUCEPHALUS.”  A mighty steed with such a name will surely never undergo such threats of abandonment and loathing as those of the pitiful Frankenstein’s Monster.

I added a few touches of black permanent marker to hide the demarcation scars from the repairs. I examined my handy work; not too shabby for an amateur mad scientist.  He was a tad bit walleyed - compliments of his original paint job - but without my own paint set, there wasn’t anything I could do for that.

I went about staging an area Bucephalus could call his very own. A gnarled mesquite branch, an ancient grinding stone and a vintage cistern hand pump was about all I had available in the outdoor décor department. Bucephalus looked right at home nestled amongst these simple antiquities.  

 

For months, Bucephalus weathered whatever Mother Nature threw at him: Day upon day in the hot desert sun. Weeks of torrential monsoons and relentless dust storms that could peal the hide clean off an armadillo. Bucephalus persevered.  

Over two years into purchasing my property and 8 months beyond promised date - two halves of a manufactured home arrived on site. It would be another two years of deception, miscommunication, total lack of communication and ineptness before an occupancy permit was issued: dangled like a carrot by faceless entities such as Maricrappy county, inspectors, corrupt site contractors, utility companies and manufactured home builders.

Finally, with 99% of the site work complete and twenty thousand dollars over budget, I moved Bucephalus, with his rustic décor, to a spot next to the newly installed electrical pedestal; installed – but not yet connected to APS. The carrot still dangled. All that needed to be done was the final green tag inspection and a flip of the switch. Weeks of false assurances of when this would happen dashed my hopes like a thousand pieces of broken pottery.

It is a helpless feeling knowing you have no control over a major, life changing event. I loved my Arizona home. This was my dream – and yet by the time they were done with me – they had sucked so much of the joy out of that dream I questioned: is it worth it?

I suppose I’d given up. Oh-well – I have a house. I have water going to my property. Who needs electricity? I’d been living off the grid for a good 4 years. I’ll figure out how to wire this thing for a generator – slap on a few solar panels and call it good. I can accomplish anything with You Tube and a roll of duct tape.

In late November 2023 – I came home to find a crew of APS workers huddled around the electrical pedestal. They were there and gone without saying a word. I looked around to see if I could tell any work had been done. I could not. All I could see was the little ceramic donkey, crushed to pieces and tossed against the concrete foundation of my electric-free house. I think that was the moment that broke the donkey’s back.

I could see their utility trucks parked on the main road east of my property. Maybe they were working on the J Box. I don’t know what I was planning to do, but I took my dogs with me in the event I needed backup. Although, as angry as I felt – I doubt I would need them.

I neared the APS crew to find them sitting on over-turned buckets watching a team roping practice. Their backs were to me. Well, isn’t this precious. “You boys enjoying yourselves?” I’d startled them bad enough one of them nearly fell off his bucket.

“OH, HEY! Yeah…just thought we’d take a little break before heading back to the office.”   *Inhale…Exhale* “Huh…glad you found some time for a little entertainment. I don’t mean to interrupt – but is there any way you can tell me the honest truth when you will have my power hooked up? Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear. I want the truth. If it’s going to be six months; fine. If there’s a problem and you’re never going to do it; fine. I’m tired of the BS. I’ve had enough.” I could feel my cheeks burning.

They looked something between bewildered and apologetic. “Ma’am…your power is hooked up. Just flip on the breaker and your good to go.” It was like an explosion of bright light…ELECTRIFIED bright light…had shot down from the utility gods and jolted life back in to my being. “Seriously? I have electricity? For reals?”

One of the crew got off his bucket and questioned me about the experience and my obvious frustration. He asked if the hold-up was due to APS?  “You know…I really don’t know. From the beginning of this whole process – one entity blamed the other. I don’t know if it was the manufacturer – the site contractors…the County…APS or a giant purple dinosaur. It doesn’t matter now.”

Close to tears, I thanked them profusely: “If I were the huggy type – I’d hug every one of you…but I’m not…so…I’m just going to go flip on every light in my house and take a shower until the hot water heater can’t keep up!” I apologized for being cranky, thanked them profusely again and did just that.

 

I found it sadly ironic that it would be the onslaught of civilization and modern amenities that would become Bucephalus’s near undoing. I gathered the shattered pieces of the little donkey and carried him to the she-shed. Gone was the make-shift chewy box table. In its place; an actual work bench and a complete set off paints. I went to work on donkey’s second major reconstruction. Home-made Bondo filled in the pieces that were missing or rendered to a chalk-powder substance. I held the partially reconstructed “Franken-donkey” in my hands and examined him from all sides. “Well donkey – a few dozen coats of paint and nobody will ever know the difference.”

I figured with all that donkey had been through – he deserved a better paint job than the cartoon-ish-walleyed look of his past. Gone were the goofy pink muzzle and lip-stick red smile depicted by no donkey ever. In their place – intelligent, dark brown eyes and a Jerusalem cross draped across his shoulders.

As of this writing, CAVCO has yet to schedule the year end repairs on my house. I have little faith they will. I could get an attorney – sue them – fight them and/or otherwise make a commotion fit to shake their world apart. I don’t have it in me anymore. It’s not worth it. To do so would once again allow them to suck the joy out of my dream. There is nothing in the needed repairs I can’t do myself. A little spackle – a little paint (a lot of paint actually) and I can live with the rest. Yes, I know it is their contracted responsibility to make things right…but at what cost? In the end – this is still my house. I can still flip on a light switch and flush the toilet without stepping on a foot pedal.

For certain, it will take more than a few tubes of paint to repair the scars left by the bureaucratic mentality and corruption of the entities involved in home ownership in this county. I was not a person. I was a parcel number on their ever-growing list of new development. I know longer had a name. I had a permit number. I didn’t have feelings – I had inspection codes. I was worthy of their attention only when it came time to sign my name on the checks. I swear – everything in me wanted to sign that check with: premise ID 1535351028-FU.

I have been asked a few times if I would do it again. Having gone through it all – I don’t think I would…but I am forever thankful that I did. This is my home now and I am gradually finding the joy I felt when I first stepped foot on the desert and dubbed this piece of Sonoran sand “my property.”

I spray another layer of protective seal coat over the little donkeys newly painted body and place him in his spot amongst the desert treasures. “Nobody’s ever going to kick you around or toss you aside again as long as I’m here my friend. It will take a lot more than what civilization can dish out to shatter our dreams. Welcome home, Bucephalus.

~

“There was none among the myriads of men who existed who would pity or assist me; and should I feel kindness towards my enemies? No: from that moment I declared everlasting war against the species, and, more than all, against him who had formed me, and sent me forth to this insupportable misery.” ~  The Monster