The side table standing at the
top of Dr Mark Goodbaum's stairs is a delicate, organic
structure, balanced with asymmetrical, architectural solidity
on a small forest of twisting branches. Dr Goodbaum made
the table a while back from deadfall wood he and his wife
Linda Ander gleaned from the lakeshore and forest near
their cottage. A lot of people go to the cottage just
to relax or maybe cast a line, but this couple prefers
to use their free time foraging raw materials for the
doctor's next project.
Of late picking up sticks has become
something of a minor recreational obsession for them.
"It's the adventure of going out into the woods,"
says Linda, a former social worker, of the activity
she calls 'hunting.' Dr Goodbaum agrees, explaining
their methods thus: "We'll take a canoe and paddle
it through shallow areas," he says. "We bring
along a garden rake to fish the wood out. You never
know whether it'll be any good or not until you've got
it; but we've found some driftwood that's just beautiful,
natural sculpture."
That's actually how the whole furniture-making
thing started. One day shortly after they bought the
cottage, about twelve years ago, Dr Goodbaum came across
a piece of wood that was shaped vaguely like a dog.
He decided to add some legs to it and, presto, 'the
dog table' — and a lasting hobby — was born.
SELF-TAUGHT
CRAFTSMAN
Once the wood's been selected, Dr Goodbaum gets to work
figuring out how to make a functioning piece of furniture
out of it. Among the pieces he's made are a Mission
chair of twigs and barnboard; a long-legged table that
frames a chunk of granite in the shape of a heart (see
right); long, polished walking-sticks glazed with rich
streaks of subtly shifting colour; a delicate bird cage
created by lashing together slender branches. Dr Goodbaum
doesn't sell his pieces, though he does makes little
sushi trays and side tables as gifts for friends.
"I have no background in art
whatsoever," says Dr Goodbaum, who's been practising
family medicine for the past twenty-odd years six blocks
away from the north Toronto neighbourhood where he grew
up. "I've never studied it." Which is not
to say that art hasn't held an important place in his
life. It was his attachment to the radical Viennese
painter and architect Fritz Hundertwasser, that won
him Linda's idealistic young heart. "The fact that
he was a doctor didn't impress me one bit," she
recalls.
"An anarchist would have gone
over great," Dr Goodbaum laughs. "But my standing
as a member of the bourgeoisie wasn't a big selling
point. But a member of the bourgeoisie who liked Hundertwasser?
Absolutely fine."
Twenty-four years later, they sit
in their airy, arty living room, surrounded by Hundertwasser
prints and driftwood furniture, while Michael, the youngest
of their three sons, records one of his jazz-influenced
pop compositions in the basement.
Besides the furniture-making, both
mum and dad are voracious readers. The best book they've
read lately is Saturday Night by Ian McEwen.
"The protagonist happens to be a doctor, and it's
very interesting reading about his approach to medicine,"
Dr Goodbaum says. "The book actually presents a
very positive portrayal of doctors. It's refreshing
to read about a character who likes his family and enjoys
his work."
MASTER
CARE BUILDER 
Dr Goodbaum can relate; he and his wife and kids are
very close, and he finds family medicine varied and
stimulating. "It's the right job for me,"
he says, simply. Linda adds, "His patients, particularly
the little old ladies, love him, because he talks to
them like you'd talk to your mother." And he's
exceptionally good at giving patients bad news. "He
doesn't just tell them and let them go," says Linda
proudly. "He tells them, and then he says, 'Look,
don't go anywhere. I'll be back in a few minutes.' And
he sees another patient, then comes back and talks with
them again."
One reason for his sensitivity
in this regard is a particularly bad pedagogical display
from early in his medical training. "A patient,
who happened to be a rabbi, had a test come back showing
that he had kidney cancer, and the specialist and his
team of interns were all going to tell him together,"
recounts Dr Goodbaum. "We got to the room, and
the family was lined up on one side of the bed and the
interns on the other like two armies ready to charge,
and the specialist seated in the middle with his feet
up on the patient's bed. And he said, "The tests
came back. You have cancer in your kidney. We'll take
it out tomorrow, because if we don't, it's goodbye,
rabbi!'
"He got up and left the room,
and as he was walking down the hall, he was chuckling
to himself . It was the funniest thing he'd ever done.
And I remember the look on the patient's face; he couldn't
believe what had just happened." He rolls his eyes.
CASUAL
FRIDAYS
To keep it all in perspective, Dr Goodbaum takes every
Friday afternoon off to cook a gourmet meal for the
family. The idea came from his mentor at Mount Sinai,
Dr Warren Rubenstein. Linda explains: "He said,
right from the start, "If you start taking Friday
afternoons off now, you've got them off. But if you
wait until you start practising, you'll never make those
changes. It's the bad habits you get into in the beginning
that affect whether or not you're going to be happy
in life."
Dr Goodbaum agrees. "In
the last John Irving book I read, there's a character
who's a doctor and he's lecturing a group of medical
students, and he says, 'Your practice is going to take
care of itself. You take care of your life.'" The
quote rang true. "Medicine's something we've been
trained at. If you're conscientious and keep up to date,
your career takes care of itself. Life is a lot more
complicated. That's the stuff you have to pay close
attention to."
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