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.