After spending the day surrounded by the wonders of EEG brain scanning, vagus nerve stimulation and gamma knife machines, it was a pleasure to leave the stifling fluorescent halls of the convention center to go out and stroll the streets of this fair, sleepy city. It's Sunday and well, on Sunday, one should always find a little time to stroll and marvel at the world around us, especially when one can do so at leisure. Simply, that's one of life's little pleasures that we forget to make time for sometimes.

On this stroll, I started to marvel at the variety and bounty of trees that the city planners were kind enough the leave unmolested in their quest to build up a plethora of condominiums, retail meccas and a massive Ralph's grocery store (which I peeked into and immediately retreated from, alarmed by its warehouse dimensions and acres of aisles).

There were large pepper trees with their gnarled trunks and flowing branches of feathery leaves. When we first got here, I spied one and plucked one of the clumps of the pepper pods off to show an unimpressed Jewels. Granted, this time of the year, the pods are fairly unimpressive. But in the warm months of late spring and early summer, the bunches grow black and hard and as peppercorns do, then ripen and fall to the ground. Ground under the footfalls of pedestrians, they spice the air with a distinctive bite. There are rows of them here, especially in the Old Town area, and they are grand, wizened beasts.

They are manicured cypress trees and the predictable palms. Indigenous eucalyptus and musty olive trees. I even came across a bank of Japanese maple, still resplendent with red leaves though we're well entrenched in the fall. I seem to remember that trees don't entirely lose their leaves here in Southern California. They just shed a bit.

Growing up, I don't remember many trees, outside of fruit trees, that bloomed. It wasn't until I moved to the east coast that I discovered the lush beauty of the magnolia and dogwood trees. To me, both these seemed otherworldly and the purest reward for our patience for having weathered the long winter. On the few springs I lived in New Jersey, I remember lying on the grass under my pride and joy, a voluptuous pink dogwood, soaking in its celebration. And a magnolia in full bloom is a work of art. I marvel at the hands that crafted this dramatic piece of nature. If a magnolia was a person, it would be a Balinese dancer: graceful, exotic, fragrant and seductive. Even the frivolity of cherry blooms can't hold a candle to these, in my view. If I could house either successfully in my apartment, I would. I long for them.

So we're off to John Wayne country tomorrow night after we log a full day in neurology central. At least they have trees in Orange County.