Doodle Doings

I frequently have people, both puppy buyers and other breeders, ask what I did before starting Westwood Labradoodles.  The answer to that would take many blog posts, as my experiences have been many and varied!  But I decided it might be an interesting exercise to answer that question a bit at a time.

One interesting job I had was detailed in an article in the 1988 Summer/Fall issue of ‘TradesWoman’ journal.  That was long before we saved documents electronically, and until recently I only had it in its original, yellowed magazine form.  But my cousin Brian figured out how to use a optical recognition software program to turn it into a printed document without me having to type the whole thing in.  What a clever man!  Thanks Brian.  So here it is, officially readable.  I will post the whole article in several installments, so stayed tuned!

That’s how the ad read. Teaching or construction experience? What kind of a combination is that? I’m one for two, I say aloud. But construction experience? I helped my father panel our basement, but that hardly counts. My mind wanders as I try to take stock of my position. It’s been almost a year since I quit medical school after two and a half years of good grades, enraged battles, and frustration with the system. Fifteen thousand dollars in debt, living on a credit card, unable to even get potential employers to answer a cover letter (who would believe that someone would leave medical school voluntarily and permanently?), I am at rock bottom. I decide to answer the ad.

Elation is not too strong a word to describe my feelings when that ad resulted in an interview. At first glance everything at the weatherization school appeared very white collar. I was interviewed in an ordinary elementary school classroom by a man wearing an expensive suit and tie. Within ten minutes of the interview’s beginning he told me I would be one of six called back to do a presentation on any topic of my choosing. As he led me on a tour of the building showing me lab areas where students learn to hang doors, weatherstrip windows, and insulate walls, my thoughts were almost too scattered for me to pick up what he was saying about the facility and its students.

“We’re really looking for is a good teacher. If they can teach we can teach them the subjects they need to know.”

“He wants me to teach weather stripping? I’m a science teacher.”

“The students come from all over the state for three to five days at a time. You would be teaching in a team with another instructor.”

“Wow! He really means it.  He’s really interested in me.”

My free flow thoughts stopped dead in their proverbial tracks as we crossed a threshold and I came face to face with a woman, taller than me (most are), built like a weightlifter.

“And this is one of our other instructors, Lynn.” With an unbelievably wide grin she extended her hand, and, looking me in the eye said, “Hey boss, let’s hire her.”

I wanted the job so badly I dreamed about it every night. The days leading to my presentation dragged unbearably, with nothing to do but go over and over my ten-minute presentation on the anatomy and specialization in the brain. He had said to pick a topic I was comfortable with. My practices alternated with frantic affirmations, “Good luck to me and all that I do, and good luck to me in this job too!!”

As I rolled into my well-rehearsed presentation for real, part of me was observing my observers. “So all the instructors will be in on the choice of a new team member. . …..how egalitarian. Six men, all bearded hippies, and a woman Are they looking for someone new to serve the coffee?”

The presentation was followed by a round-robin question and answer, “One of your students is falling behind because he can’t read. What do you do?” “A student calls you an asshole in front of the class, what do you do?”  “If we hired you would you be willing to grow a beard?”  Without hesitation I reply, “If you supply the hormones, I’ll supply the beard.”

They must have been looking for a smart ass because there I was, my first day on the job. They led me to a  bookshelf six feet tall, four feet wide and full of tomes on construction methods,  heat loss theory and weatherization procedures.  “Read these,”  I was told, “and when you’re tired come out to the garage and well find something else for you to do.”

“This is alright,” I said to myself. ‘being a student is something I’m good at.”   I plunged into chapters on grading of lumber and nailing patterns.

Hours later my brain was aching and I obediently went to the garage. with no idea of what to expect. It certainly was unexpected. The garage was large enough to accommodate four school buses, and inside it they were building a life-size house. The foundation wall surrounding the crawlspace was done, and l was assigned to nail the cross bridging between the floor joists over the crawlspace. As I by flat on my back, in complete darkness except for the trouble light that was blinding my  left eye, swinging (very inexpertly) a hammer four inches from my face, I wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into.

I struggled to improve my manual skills over the next three weeks, knowing that when the students arrived at the beginning of the next quarter they would be scrutinizing the quality of the props on which they practiced.  What I wasn’t prepared for was the enthusiasm with which they would scrutinize me.

But I looked forward to the arrival of the new quarter and the students. The three preceding weeks had been physically demanding and I had arrived at home each evening exhausted. My biceps, as well as a number of other muscles were unaccustomed to the rigors of rough carpentry.  On more than one occasion I had provided comic relief for my co-workers. They really enjoyed the sight of me wrestling with bales of shingles weighing 80 pounds.  Even better were the four by eight sheets of plywood or drywall which, when hoisted to my shoulders became instant sails, threatening to whisk my 105 pound body from the roof.  But I expected to be more comfortable in the classroom, observing the classes as preparation for teaching them.  I was wrong.