I love grabbing a hotdog from the vendor across from the huge health food store. I particularly enjoy the incongruity of the hotdog man’s station against the backdrop of the health food grocer. Earlier this week, having only a short time for lunch, I ran up the road for a hotdog and soda. As I ate, an older, affluent, city-dwelling couple exited the store, loaded with bags emblazoned with the store’s logo and stuffed with expensive, all-natural comestibles. She was munching a wrap sandwich trailing alfalfa sprouts and assorted green stuff like a portable flower box. He made a beeline for the hotdog stand for a “foot-long” with onions and an ice-cold root beer. Being a lover of the lowly frankfurter myself, I silently empathized with him as he got an earful on the evils of the food he was about to enjoy from his impeccable, linen-clad spouse. A few minutes later he walked past me, throwing a conspiratorial wink in my direction while relishing his feast and ignoring the lecture he had obviously heard many times before.

As you may guess, people watching is my favorite sport on these mid-day forays out of the office. I enjoy seeing couples of all ages stroll the sidewalks stealing kisses. I stare, and savor the looks of love, and wish Steve were with me so I could steal a kiss too.

Tourists take pictures and read the menus posted on walls as they try to decide where to take their lunch. Herds of Japanese tourists loaded down with cameras drink in the sights that we residents take for granted; sometimes their fascination leads me to re-appreciate something I otherwise don’t see.

Then there is the see-and-be-seen crowd. Decked out in sparkling jewelry and chic clothing, these people sit at the outdoor cafés drinking their sparkling water or white wine while eating miniscule portions of nouvelle cuisine and talking about the symphony or theatre.

I often see the same pairs of old men who regularly play chess at the outdoor tables in front of the pastry shop, old yellow dogs curled at their feet. They play hunched over mugs of steaming coffee and half-eaten, now-forgotten confections. One day last month, I made the mistake of cheering a great move as I lingered over my lunch. The men and their dogs turned as one and growled at me, sending me into fits of giggles and garnering reluctant smiles from the distracted players.

Homeless people bathe in the water and wash their clothing in the decorative fountains at small sidewalk parks and sun themselves to dry. They read old newspapers retrieved from the trash against a background of church bells tolling the noon hour and the conversations of clusters of people strolling to their lunch destinations.

I enjoy all of these. But there are times when I love sitting on a bench by myself, the sun touched by a dappling of shade, my lunch brought from home and a good book in my hand. It can be a heavenly slice of time, and I revel in the peace and the quiet that aloneness brings. It’s been a couple of weeks since I’ve been able to afford myself that pleasure. The last time, though, a gaggle of Red Hat Ladies, garbed in bright purple and cardinal red hats came past, giggling and talking. One of them with unnaturally blue tinted hair commented loudly, “Look at the poor dear in sparrow colors; she has no friends. She’s eating alone and reading a book.” Another member of the group, stooped over and walking with a cane, shushed the woman tartly while nodding to me politely. I watched them go on their way with more amusement than dismay.

You see, I think the loud woman must have read too many dime-store novels judging from her reaction, if she thinks that to wear the color brown, and sit and read on a park bench is some sort of penance or the mark of the unwanted and unloved. She’s wrong. Sometimes it is the most relaxing thing in the world to do. It gets me away from the conversations at work about work, away from the endless noise of fax machines and computers. I find it soothing to sit and listen to the birds sing against the background of tires humming on pavement. It is bliss to lose myself in a novel and its denizens of another time or another place. It does wonders to relieve the morning’s stress and clear my head. Invariably, I go back to the office refreshed and at peace.

I’m not the only one to take her ease and read while she eats. Some days more than a dozen people spread out over the benches or on the wall around the fountain and sometimes only one. We all know that spending time alone with a book and a feast in a brown paper bag is as popular as anything else to be done in the hour called lunch. What a joy to have such choices!


At age 10, Anne realized she was never going to get to be Miss America since reading a book was not an acceptable talent. So she went on to get a job and raise a family. Along the way, she fixed meals, picked up toys, helped with homework, and collected a drawer full of rejection slips for her “great American novel.” It was not all bad, however, since she ended up wallpapering a closet with them. She currently designs and creates greeting cards for her tiny company, The Frog Prints, LLC, and also works full-time as a Training Specialist. Anne is currently tethered to reality by a loving spouse, two dogs and the occasional hurricane that blows through Florida, although falling headlong and happily into a book is still her favorite “talent.” She can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it