I
could write about how great it was to be with our son Jeremy and his family in
Maryland for Mother’s Day. I could say
how amazing the grandchildren are, how much I enjoyed Leo’s soccer game, the barbecue at their neighbor’s, the visit with a childhood friend, our Mother’s
Day brunch, and Seth’s Mother’s Day email from Berlin which, of course, made me
cry. All good.
Instead,
I want to write about gluten.
We
went to lunch after Leo’s soccer game.
The kids and Peter went to Five Guys, a hamburger place, and Katrina and
I went to Sweetgreen next door where the counter staff composed a gluten-free salad
per my direction but put a piece of bread on top of the greens. “No,” I shouted—you’ll have to start over—I
said I needed gluten-free.”
“Not
to worry”, they replied. “It’s
gluten-free bread!”
We
took our salads next door to join the males.
Five Guys makes their French fries in a dedicated fryer and they are therefore
gluten-free. I ate my first fast-food French
fry since my celiac diagnosis fourteen years age. It was heavenly.
That
night the neighbors offered piles of barbecued pork and chicken brought in for
their party. I planned to stick with the
raw veggies. But my daughter-in-law
called the barbecue place and they said I could eat all but the bread.
The
one disappointment was at Costco’s on Friday night where Peter and Jeremy
each had a huge ice cream dipped in chocolate and crushed almonds. The woman at the counter didn’t understand
what gluten was so I couldn’t join them.
Peter admitted it was fantastic.
I sulked.
But
when Jeremy called Costco customer service after our Mother’s Day Brunch and
learned that, in fact, that bar is gluten-free, we took a quick detour on the
way home, and Jeremy bought me my own ice cream bar dipped in chocolate and
crushed almonds. Delicious.
Life
is gluten-free and good.
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