Gift Horses

by Lyn StClair

There are countless books written about "visualizing" the life you want…but visualization has never worked for me.  Oddly, the more I tried to visualize something…the less likely it seemed to happen.  To say that has been frustrating is an understatement…at times, it has been downright heartbreaking.  Yet, every time I was "denied" what I "wanted"…something better seemed to come along.

What I have learned along the way is that life is not about getting what you want…
    ...nor is it really about learning not to want.

Our dreams and desires have the power to move us forward…but sometimes we must be willing to let go of the originally hoped-for destination.

We should not only be aware of the doors that open along the way…but also appreciate the value of the ones that shut.

So many times I have looked back and marveled "who would have thought I would be HERE a year ago?".  In a society that seems to value security, it seems odd to say that I have come to LOVE the polar shifts that have marked new chapters in my life again and again over the years.

Having experienced the loss of a child, divorce, the death of a parent, cancer, the passing of friends, not to mention the infinite "minor" stumbles along the way...I have learned that gifts lie beneath the pain, if you are willing to look for them.  Every tear shed has been a drop of moisture to the soil of my soul…and the ever-present laughter is the sunshine.

Early last summer I joined a couple of friends to look at a home one of them was considering for purchase.  Before I'd even made it up the driveway, I realized it was the kind of house/studio/barn/location I'd dreamed of…and, for the first time, it hit me that I would likely never have that.

Several years ago I'd saved enough for a substantial down payment and was actively looking for a house to buy.  Then I was diagnosed with cancer.  Being uninsured meant that all the money I had saved for a downpayment on a house would disappear like a puff of smoke into stacks of hospital bills.  

With my friends, I looked over that perfect property until I couldn't hold back the tears.  After saying my goodbyes, I left the house and ran to the solace of my horses.

For the first time, I really cried over the cancer thing…and, as I did with the horses of my childhood and youth, I hugged my ponies until the tears stopped.

Then, with a deep breath or two, I let go of that dream house and remembered all I had to be grateful for (including the horses whose coats I'd just cried into).  

A few weeks later I was surfing craigslist and found a post advertising a little schoolhouse for rent.  Long story short:  my new home is better than anything I could have dreamed of…

Time and again I have had to learn to let go of what I "want".  Even when "letting go" has meant it had to be painfully, and involuntarily, ripped from my grasp.  When I finally let go, the reward was often a gift better than I imagined.

Many people believe that our mistakes and personal tragedies are something to bury, leave behind, forget…at best, we "should" learn from them and let them go.  Others hang on to their failings/injuries/losses and drag them along throughout life, continuing to carry the pain or anger or grief indefinitely.  Recently, I have come to believe that the most soulful approach lies in embracing the pain as much as the happiness.  What a marvelous gift to be alive to feel not only love, happiness, hope and joy…but also pain, failure, regret and loss.

My path has never gone where I imagined it would…yet here i am in the most marvelous place.  I would not be here had I been able to buy a house instead of having cancer.  My fabulous horses and a remarkable dog came into my life as a result of having cancer.  No one considers it a gift when they are diagnosed with cancer…but, in hindsight, maybe it was.

How do we learn to appreciate the gifts that may come wrapped within our tragedies and disappointments without having to find them in hindsight (if ever)?

How do we learn to appreciate the gift of every moment and every single breath we take?

Five years ago I woke from surgery less curvy, free of cancer and soon to be bereft of savings.  

Today my life is full of family and friends that I cherish, work that I love, pets that make me laugh, ponies that carry my dreams, a view that astonishes me every day, a home that I adore and life…precious life.  

The hopes/dreams/loves that have been left behind are as much a part of who I am as the ones realized and yet to be.  

No doubt, more heartbreak lies ahead….but I will never stop hoping/dreaming/loving.  

Rather than holding too tight to my dreams and desires, though…I hope I will have the courage to set them free and the wisdom to appreciate the gifts that come in unexpected packages.

As another season of giving winds down, let us appreciate the gifts we receive…
          whether it's what we wanted or not.

Finding Karma

by Lyn StClair


At my solo gallery show opening in 2009 one of the women attending mentioned she was selling a horse.  Though I was in no way looking for a horse, I could not resist the opportunity to go with my wonderful horsey neighbor Donald, his partner Mick and their friend Gregg to look at "Billy Jean" as a possible horse for Gregg.

Billy Jean was Percheron/Thoroughbred cross owned by a young woman named Molly.  

Molly rescued Billy's pregnant dam from a PMU farm in Canada and brought her to Santa Barbara where Billy was foaled.  Born coal black with a star, Billie was a deep charcoal grey three year old when I met her.  

Molly had begun her training beautifully, but had recently met the love of her life and was moving to Sweden...so Billy needed a new home.

She was gorgeous, but I had trouble justifying the cost of boarding the horse I already had (and they could accept no more boarders even if I could).

More importantly, though I have ridden since I was a toddler, I had never trained a horse...and Billy had a lot more to learn.

My pragmatic Scottish side kicked in.  I admired her, loved on her...and then hugged her goodbye.

Afterward though, I could not stop thinking about her...and Michael Jackson's song had become stuck in my head non-stop.

"B-B-B-Billie Jean..."

A few weeks later, we were riding with a friend.  I was on her huge Percheron/TB paint and falling in love with draft crosses.  As we rode, I told her about Billy Jean and she said "Of course you could train her!'  When the boarding dilemma came up...she came back with "you could keep her at my place".  An intense feeling came over me...I HAVE to do this!

At home, I stepped out of the truck to see the daughter of the woman who was keeping Billy for Molly.  Perfect timing!  I beelined for her and told her I needed to reach Molly to buy her horse.

Her response was a crushing blow: "Molly left for Sweden yesterday...Billie was sold to a neighbor, the sprinkler guy."

Brokenhearted that I had missed the "dream horse", over the next couple of weeks I turned to Craigslist searching for a draft cross and began working with a green Quarter Horse that our friend wanted to sell.

The MJ song refused to leave my head though.

So, I tried emailing Molly for more information...she was sympathetic, but couldn't help.  Billy had been sold and that was that.

Never one to give up easily on a dream, I emailed every sprinkler guy in the area:  "Did you recently buy a big grey horse?..."  Amazingly, one of them responded "yes".  He was happy with her, the farrier was coming out the next week and then they'd know more.  That last part seemed a door open to possibility...

A few days later I wrote him back and made an offer that was more than Molly had been asking.  He thought about it for a couple of days and then agreed.

Billy Jean was mine.

Her name became Karmelita, in part to keep that MJ song out of my head.  Instead there is a Warren  Zevon song to sing to her.  

She can be "good Karma" when she is and "bad Karma" should she ever be rotten (rolls eyes dramatically).

This funny, tough, beautiful, quirky, intelligent, goofy, spirited mare has been a priceless addition to my world.  She has been a challenge at times...but she makes up for it by being an extraordinary soul who continually enriches my life.

She has taught me far more than I could ever teach her.  Together we have weathered some pretty tough stuff and always come through smiling.

As to training...I have come to realize that I knew more about it than I thought...and nothing at all.  What I continually draw on is what I learned with the horses I adored as a child and teen:
Love unconditionally
Cultivate trust
Be kind
and Have fun.

Beyond that...I am always trying to learn something new.

Horses teach you that calm, quiet, patience, humor and kindness are not only good qualities with which to approach them...they are the way to approach life in general.

In my opinion (for what it's worth)...training horses means learning to find a way to bridge a gap between yourself and a soul that sees things very differently than you.  The world can certainly use more of that!

Horses, like art and life, are a work in progress.

They are sensitive and they react to what we bring to them...so the most important step to training is learning to leave your stress, temper, impatience and worry outside the arena (or off the trail).

Like people, horses have their good days and their bad days...so, as one trainer says, you learn to work with the horse that shows up.

Rather than get mad and frustrated that my horse is not doing what I tell them, I look for reasons why and different ways of "asking".  What builds from that is trust...

When you and your horse trust one another...you can do anything.

Whatever I do with them, I am always on the lookout for them to "try"...and hopefully they appreciate my "try", too...

Thank you Molly for rescuing this lovely mare and her mama from the wicked Premarin farm program and shaping her young life so thoughtfully.  Thank you Hank for answering that email and being willing to let her go, albeit reluctantly.  Thank you Dody for telling me "you can!", for offering advice and for giving me a place to put Karma for the first few months.  Thank you Donald for getting me back into jumping...and Donald, Mick and Gregg for letting me come along to see her that first time.  







Last but not least...
thank you Karma for just being you.

Soul Dog

After the death of the remarkable little Italian Greyhound that followed my EVERY footstep for 18 years...I was thinking I would not have another dog for a LONG time (if ever).

When I faced cancer, though...I knew I needed a dog.

Ever since seeing "Down and Out in Beverly Hills", I have wanted a mostly white border collie with black spots...and, in particular, a black patch over one eye like "Matisse".

With the wonders of modern technology at my fingertips, I dove into the internet and started searching shelters in the region. I looked at photos and profiles of every "used" dog in Montana and the surrounding states. Nowhere could I find "the" dog that matched what I wanted.

Over and again though, I kept coming back to a little nondescript black border collie cross named "Newt".

Still stubbornly looking for my "dream dog", I visited the shelter here in town, then called a breeder ad in the paper...and finally went over to Bozeman to see Newt.

I cannot say what it was about him...he didn't do anything bad...but he didn't do anything particularly good either. He did not bound up to me like a long lost friend and lick my face as fireworks went off. He came over, quietly said "hi" and then explored the room like any old dog. Somehow I knew, though.

Before taking the plunge, I wanted Ray to meet him and he would be working until Friday...so I asked the shelter if they would hold Newt until then (it was Wednesday). They agreed.

Shortly after I arrived home in Livingston, the phone rang...it was the shelter and someone wanted to adopt Newt. They told me that they were not supposed to hold Newt without a deposit. I explained that no one mentioned deposit to me and I would have happily paid one if they did.  They said "sorry".   I argued...making the point that I was trying to do the right thing and have the other household member meet him first. It took a couple of desperate phone calls and pleading with different staff members before they finally (albeit grudgingly) agreed to hold him until fifteen minutes after they opened on Friday ("NO later than that"). We showed up fifteen minutes before they opened...

Curious to see what Newt did when left on his own, I insisted we sneak in and "spy" on him. I did not want a barker...or a dog who neurotically paced nonstop when left alone. As we came around the corner, there was Newt...quietly sitting in the far end of his kennel with his back to us.

When I called him he limped over (he'd hurt his foot running outside), snuggled against the wire and started whimpering.

Ray said "NOPE, I will NOT have a whiny dog".
Ray never had a chance...he lost that battle before it even began.

A few minutes later, we were headed to Petsmart with Newt in the back seat. Little did we know that the whimpering was just a hint of the singsong vocalization that would be Newt's signature...

Many of you know Newt...so you know that there is no possible way to describe this special little soul in a reasonable number of words.

Newt makes everyone smile. He seems to worm his way into the hearts of every person, every creature, he meets.

He isn't just "my" dog.

In my opinion,
Newt belongs to the whole world.

He needs to be shared so he can touch and heal the hearts of as many people as possible.

Maybe this story about him says it best:
A couple of years ago at the Natureworks Show in Tulsa, Newt was sleeping in my booth while I sat in a director's chair on the opposite side of the aisle. Two kids, a boy about six and a slightly older girl, came into the booth.  The girl instantly flopped down by Newt and, to his delight, started cooing over him. The boy carefully petted him then came over to lean on the arm of my chair...he looked very serious. So I asked: "Do you have something to say to me?"
The boy replied "Yes. I do."

He gestured toward Newt and continued: "THAT dog is not a REAL dog...that dog is a SOUL dog". His Mother and I asked simultaneously "What do you mean by that?" He rolled his eyes at our apparent lack of common sense and said "WELL...a real dog is JUST a dog on the outside...but a soul dog is special on the INSIDE". That about sums up Newt:  Soul Dog.

Finding Newt was another lesson in listening to my heart and looking beyond the surface. Newt was nothing like the "dream dog" I was determinedly looking for. There was no spark of recognition (on either part) when we met, no "Oh my God, he's perfect", nothing notable at all about our first meeting...there was just a quiet voice that whispered "this is the one". Thank goodness I listened...

Newt might not have been the dog I thought I wanted on the outside...but he was the soul dog I needed on the inside.

Goodbye Girls

When I showed up at the clinic for my annual exam in October of 2008, in a fortuitous twist of fate, the doctor assigned to me was a friend. During the exam she suggested a mammogram to check out an enlarged lymph node. Had it been some random doc...I probably would have procrastinated...but, maybe because it was her, I called to set up the appointment as soon as I got to the car.  

On October 17, I had my digital mammogram.  The lymph node was just a lymph node...but there was something on the other side. They did a biopsy the same day, and that didn't exactly go well as someone miscalculated the settings on the computer-operated biopsy machine and overshot the target with the needle (not fun). At least I got some "Breast Cancer Awareness Month" cookies and a pink robe as a parting gift.

Thus began a crazy whirlwind.

With no insurance and no regular doctor, I found myself at the mercy of the hospital. Biopsy results were delayed and the tension built…finally, on October 28, the doctor called to give me the news over the phone "you have cancer, come in tomorrow at 9".  

We were still in a state of shock when we showed up the next morning. The doctor, who must have failed the kindness portion of his training, handed me a book called "Be a Survivor" before he even said "hello." He then proceeded to try to convince me that we had to move fast and should try to do the surgery as soon as possible. The problem was that I would be leaving in about a week for my Fall show trip...five weeks on the road. He claimed that I would be fine doing that trip right after surgery. Fortunately, his schedule could not fit me in.

The phone calls started. What about a doctor in Tennessee or DC where I was heading? I made an appointment with a woman doctor in Nashville where my Mom and many other family members live and we hit the road early. The doc in Nashville greeted me with "Well, the good news is you'll be permanently perky." I must have looked stunned (maybe more like "mildly irritated") because she went on to cheerfully explain that they begin the reconstruction during the surgery to remove the cancer. Long story short...she wasn't going to work out either.  

At my Fall art shows, my artist friends were my saving grace. My way through things that are too hard to think about is to laugh...and laugh we did. Ray was going to carve me balsa wood boobs, and a sculptor friend offered to make me a bronze set. A dear friend who had had successful reconstruction shared her story and offered to let me feel hers if I wanted (words that came out right as Ray happened to walk by and brought on another round of giggles).  

Meanwhile I was wrestling with some big decisions. There was no indication of cancer on the right side and the tumor was relatively small. The doctors all said the best thing was to do a lumpectomy, followed by chemo and radiation. Option two, a mastectomy and probably no radiation/chemo. They offered assorted recommendations for reconstruction, most started the process during the initial surgery...but there would be more surgeries, either way. The thought of chemo flat out terrified me and there was still the problem of no insurance. Reconstruction had no appeal, nor did the idea of being "lopsided" or dealing with a prosthetic. With no insurance, minimizing cost had to be considered as well. 

In the end, I went against the advice of all the doctors and chose a bilateral mastectomy without reconstruction. I made this decision for several reasons. First, I have never seen myself as a fake boob kind of girl and I could not imagine putting my body through more surgeries than necessary just to fill a bra (those things are annoying anyway). Second, I was hoping to get through this without having to do chemo or radiation. Third...with no insurance, and no chance that I would ever get insurance after this...it just seemed the logical thing to be done with it all and not have to worry in the future, if possible. A friend recommended a surgeon in Helena and appointments were made.

On December 11, I said goodbye to the girls. Just before surgery, the doctor asked "are you sure you want to go this route?" Without hesitation, I said "Yes...and could you give me lightning bolt scars?"  (she didn't).  

More news came at the first follow-up visit: The doctor said "You made the right decision. Turns out there was a second tumor that had missed by all the mammograms, MRIs and doctors." Fortunately, they just happened to get it all in the surgery but, because the margins were a little close, I would have to do radiation.

"Buddha Bear"
(Inspired by one of the bears I watched
during radiation)

Radiation was not the monster I thought it would be. The doctors said the effects would be cumulative and that I would get more and more exhausted over the ten to twelve weeks it would take. Thing was...it was Spring and my favorite time to see bears in the Park. So, for most of the last seven weeks of radiation, I would get up at 2:30-3 AM and drive a couple of hours to Yellowstone to watch and photograph bears, wolves, etc. I would schedule my radiation appointment as late as possible every day and to make the daily 4-4:30 slot in Bozeman, I would have to be leaving YNP by 2 PM.  After radiation, it was another 40 minutes drive home to rest. Then I would do it all again the next day. Weekends were spent entirely in the Park. Where other women in the waiting room would talk about how all they could do was go home afterward and sit around and cry...I would come bouncing into the hospital telling stories and showing photos of the bears and wolves I had seen.

In the end...it was a combination of luck, pragmatism, common sense, trusting my gut and a tendency to be vanity-challenged that saved my ass, even if nothing could be done for the tits. Even finding myself single again, I have no regrets about the decisions I made. Being flat-chested really isn't so bad…in fact, I'd have to say it has some distinct advantages.  

What amazed me over the course of this process was how important saving the breast (or rebuilding it) was to the vast majority of the people I spoke with.  Someone told me of a friend who chose to try to save her breasts and wound up with another round of cancer that killed her…she left two small children behind.  It is a sad reflection on our society that so much import is put on something of, really, so little consequence.  How sad to think of all the women who have lost their lives to keep their breasts…or lost their partners because they didn't. I remember reading over and again about so many women who would look at themselves in the mirror post-surgery (if they even COULD look) and cry because they felt "less" than a woman without breasts. That never happened with me for some reason…from the first time I faced that mirror the day after surgery, what comes to my mind has always been "well, it is what it is". I don't feel a sense of loss or like "less" of a woman…just very fortunate to be alive.

November 2012 ()

Ironically, in 2002-2003 I did a huge solo painting project  that benefitted breast cancer research, though I had no connection to breast cancer.  

Weirder still was this: when the doctor explained how long I had probably had the cancer based on the size of the tumor, it turned out that the cancer most likely started WHILE I was doing the "48x48" project.  

Guess you could say that no good deed goes unpunished...OR you could look at it like I do:  

In a way, cancer was a gift. Though I would NEVER choose that path (or wish it on anyone)...in so many ways my life is far better for having had cancer. My life is far more valuable to me and far richer...and I will never have to buy or wear a bra again!!

(By the way, I am NOT single again because of my decision regarding my breasts. Ray not only stuck through it all, he was my rock and incredibly supportive of every choice made..especially that one.
We were just different people on different paths...)