People I've met: the Mary Kay Magyar and the Dead Head Dentist.

Two nights ago, we went to Home Depot for plumbing supplies. It seems that our house doesn't have a working outdoor spigot. Home Depot is a bit north of here in East Greenbush, a suburb of Albany. Aidan and I stood around while Steve puzzled over the boxes of elbows and Ts. From a distance, I caught the familiar sound of Hungarian being spoken by an old lady. Or maybe it was English with a Hungarian accent.

When she came down our aisle, looking for something, I asked her if she was Hungarian. We had a short conversation. She asked me where my realtives were. I didn't bother explaining that they are mostly dead, but rather said that they were in Sarasota. Ah yes, she has a friend in Sarasota that she visits. I was tempted to ask her if it was Anna Sandor, my Grandmother's old friend who seems to know hundreds of people, but then realized how silly that was. I don't think she was Anna's type anyway, she gave me her card which identified her as a Mary Kay lady.

She asked me if I would be interested in joining the Hungarian Club. It's in Schenectady and most of the members now don't speak Hungarian. I politely said that perhaps I would, though I can't imagine doing such a thing. I found myself remembering later that my grandmother never seemed particularly devoted to Hungary and certainly didn't have any affection for Hungarians just because they were from the same country as she. This woman was an Eva, she was probably in her eighties, with a stern voice and a businesslike manner. The man who was shopping with her, probably her son, seemed like he might have been just barely tolerating her. As the woman left, she sized me up and said something like, yes, you have a nice face. I've been wondering ever since if she was observing at how Hungarian I looked, how Jewish I looked, or how I would look with a little make-up on.

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I went to the dentist yesterday for the first time since I was a teenager. I had a terrible headache that lasted for about a week at the beginning of May and I thought it was my wisdom teeth telling me that they couldn't wait any longer. I made an appointment with a holistic dentist in Hillsdale. I'd never been to him, but someone had recommended him when we first moved to the barn. I might have dental therough Medicaid (still don't know if I have Medicaid yet) and I wanted to know if I could have my wisdom teeth taken out by a Medicaid dentist, or if it may be a sensitive procedure like a root canal is which perhaps should not be trusted with a Medicaid dentist.

When I made the appointment, I was told that it would be with a different dentist. The original dentist was retiring and someone else was buying his practice. When I walked in yesterday, new dentist and his hygenist were working on someone. The Allman Brothers were playing softly on a box and there was a poster of Dennis Kucinich at the counter that said "Fear Ends - Hope Begins". I sat down to read a magazine from the NRDC and soon the dentist came out to greet me. He was a round man with a long ponytail and big sweet cow eyes. He had the kind of soft, gentle voice and manner that made me wonder as I was yelling at another driver on the way home if he ever yells at other drivers, or if he just says, "well, okay friend" and stays out of their way. His hygenist took a ton of x-rays and I waited while he finished up a root canal. It turns out I only have one teeny tiny cavity, besides some small ones in my wisdom teeth. My favorite moment is when he started to talk about my wisdom teeth. He explains that the top ones are through, but they have cavities and there's no room for them. Bottom right is impacted but not too bad, but bottom left - deep breath - "is like - freaky impacted." How can I not love the dentist who says "freaky impacted"?

It may be a totally unfair assessment, but I can't help wondering if he became a dentist for the laughing gas.