This New Year, I declared, would start differently than any other.  I decided to skip the ritual of making resolutions to start this or stop that in 2012.

Unfortunately I made my pledge prematurely, before hearing my younger son announce his New Year’s resolution to get his driver’s license. Since then, I have rescinded my initial declaration; and, instead, I resolve to seek a remedy to remove the frown lines from my furrowed brow resulting from repeatedly practicing lane changes, night driving, and parallel parking.

Soon after resolving to find my Fountain of Youth, my thoughts flashed back to the flood of statistics I uncovered about the many risks of teen driving. I wrote an article about the subject for this publication two years ago, as my oldest son started his driving journey—which, coincidently, marks the onset of my fine facial lines evolving into a virtual road map.

Today, sadly, the statistics remain as startling as they were a couple of years ago: Approximately 30,000 American teens died in automobile crashes in the past five years; almost 65% of all teen passenger deaths occurred when another teen was driving; and, the leading cause of death for Americans 15 to 20 years-old is motor vehicle collisions. 

While researching the aforementioned article, I met with Ellen Gaddie of JourneySafe.  She provided information about the outreach program founded by friends and family of Gillian Sabet after she and Jonathan Schulte were killed in 2005 when they were passengers in a car driven by Jill’s best friend who lost control of the car on the way to their junior prom. 

Once Ellen and I ended our interview, I asked her opinion about training programs for new drivers. I considered her advice and concluded my son would not learn to drive – one of the most important things he’ll ever learn to do in his life – by taking an online course.

Personally, I wouldn’t want to be a passenger on an airplane which the pilot learned to fly by taking an online class (truth be told, I don’t want to be on an airplane under any circumstance—but you get my point).

I’ll never forget Ellen’s parting words to me that day, “It’s expensive to get the right kind of training, but that expense is way less than a funeral.”

While driver training can be costly, free educational programs exist in our area, like the Start Smart program offered by the California Highway Patrol (CHP). In 2002, the CHP developed the free two-hour driver safety class targeting teens between the ages of 15 to 19 and their parents.

Two years ago my older son, and soon to be teen driver, accompanied me to the enlightening evening class. At the program I learned what, I think, is perhaps one of the cruelest facts about teen driving.

Teenagers face a physiological roadblock as drivers: their prefrontal cortexes are underdeveloped—that’s the part of the brain that controls decision making and the ability to predict future consequences—so teens are more likely to take risks than experienced and older drivers (it can take up to age 25 for the frontal lobe to fully mature).

I also learned that while some driving techniques have changed, one safety tip still reigns supreme:  buckle up. According to the CHP, teens have a lower seatbelt usage rate than older adults, and they’re more likely to forget to buckle up when other teens are in the car.

The CHP presented an impactful program; and, after watching Start Smart’s video presentation (think modern day “Red Asphalt”), I thought about turning in my car keys for a bus pass.

Although I’ve found tips to help minimize some of the hazards challenging teen drivers, my pessimistic mind still begs to slam on the brakes and stop my son from speeding toward getting his license.

On the other hand - after spending almost 15 years of my life shuttling my boys to and from various schools, sports events, and social commitments - my optimistic mind looks forward to new found freedom and finding my Fountain of Youth in 2012.

‘Tis the season of sentiment and time for tradition—when we welcome the arrival of merry yuletide rituals like gathering around the television to watch “It’s a Wonderful Life” and hanging holiday ornaments on the tree.

For my family, one tradition that’s stood the test of time is our annual Christmas trip toDisneyland.

I’m not a die-hard Disney fan; I don’t own anything emblazon with Tinker Bell nor do I don a pair of mouse ears, but I do like visiting the park when it’s transformed into a winter wonderland.

Every December, we take a break from the holiday hysteria and head north toAnaheimto see how the “imagineers” trim their trees and deck their halls.

From November 14 to January 8 the three hotels, Downtown Disney District, and both parks become draped in lights and decorations; with more than 700 decorated trees, it’s a spectacular sight—one that could convert even the grumpiest of Grinches.

We stay at Disneyland for a couple days, but it’s really the nights filled with seasonal electricity that are the most fun: nightly, the "Believe…in Holiday Magic" show shoots fireworks up into the nighttime sky and afterwards “snow” falls down onto the crowds on Main Street, U.S.A.

Each of us has a festive favorite:  I look forward to “A Christmas Fantasy” Parade and watching Santa Claus sail down Main Street; our boys prefer visiting Jack Skellington’s Haunted Mansion Holiday; and my husband, well, his Happiest Place on Earth is the ESPN Zone located in Downtown Disney.

Just like “E” tickets, long gone are the nostalgic days of packing portable cribs and lingering in lengthy lines at Mickey's Toontown.  Today our boys prefer their own room and fastpasses for California Screamin’.

Alas, this year likely marks our last trip together for a while, another bittersweet bump on the road to college—perhaps that’s why I find myself fondly reminiscing about our December days spent at Disney.

Years ago, after a busy and blustery day at the park we retreated to Craftsman style lobby of the Grand Californian Hotel & Spa and nestled near the even grander fireplace and grandest tree, as traditional Victorian carolers sang holiday classics.

My husband and I, both exhausted, collapsed onto one of their comfortable couches while our kids lined-up to see Santa Claus who stops by nightly to chat with both the naughty and nice on his list.

We watched as our boys waited, we couldn’t hear their animated conversation but we couldn’t miss their wide-eyed expressions. As usual, my older son worked his way to the front and went first; he climbed up on to Santa’s lap and placed his order.

My younger son waited patiently.  When his turn came he rushed to greet Santa and as he spoke, his expression changed from anxious excitement to shocked surprise.  After rattling off their long lists, they ran back to us to report their conversations.

My younger son exclaimed, “Santa knew me!  He said, ‘Ryan Murphy, I have been waiting for you.  You have been very good this year.’”

My husband and I looked at each other quizzically—the “cast members” atDisneylandare good, but not that good. 

Initially, I thought it might be some perk in our pricey holiday package; but then surely, Santa would say both boys’ names, and curiously Mr. Claus didn’t seem to have a clue as to Kyle’s identity. 

It took a few minutes, but I finally figured it out.  I saw what the big guy in the red suit must have caught a glimpse of.  Scribbled on the lining inside my son’s red windbreaker, I read what I’d written in bold, red Sharpie ink on the tag:  Ryan Murphy.

Fortunately for Santa, and my son, the windbreaker wasn’t a hand-me-down or a cast-off from Goodwill and Disney’s holiday magic triumphed.

Wishing you and yours a season of magical memories.

One week from today, millions across the nation will share the tradition of sitting down to indulge in a turkey dinner marathon; and, thousands inDanaPointwill revel in the ritual of running the annual Turkey Trot prior to taking their place at the table.

Whether you are aiming for a PR (personal record) on the course or in the kitchen, it’s a day of pacing and endurance.

My family doesn’t understand why I look forward to running the race. They can’t fathom why I leave a warm house in the dark to take to the cold streets at dawn.

While I like running the Turkey Trot, I’ve missed many races, too. Years ago, when CUSD added vacation days to the school calendar during that fourth week of November, we took-off on tropical retreats.  But, this year with college application deadlines looming, instead of eating at a luau I’ll be feeding my son my credit card numbers as he files his common application on the computer.

Since I’m unapologetically, and pathetically, clinging to the calendar and marking every milestone of my son’s senior year, I asked my college bound kid if he’d like to run with me this time.  His reply, “I’m gonna pass.”

I didn’t tell him that no one will miss him.  With approximately 15,000 eager runners expected to participate in the 34th annual event it’s the nation’s sixth largest turkey trot and the biggest Thanksgiving Day race on the West Coast.

Also named “one ofAmerica’s best Thanksgiving Day runs” by Fitness Magazine, it attracts elite runners battling for prize money along with those competing in the category of best costume.

The tradition of running the Turkey Trot can be tracked to the early 1970s when a group ofDanaPointlocals caught-up in the growing popularity of the sport, decided to host a coastal 10K race for friends on Thanksgiving Day. In 1976, capitalizing on the running craze, the Dana Point Chamber of Commerce took over and organized the first “official” Thanksgiving Day Turkey Trot.

This year the fundraiser will benefit both the Dana Point Fifth Marine Regiment Support Group, helping local Marines and their families during the Thanksgiving holiday and the Second Harvest Food Bank ofOrangeCounty, helping to feed the hungry.

On many Thanksgiving mornings, while standing huddled near the start and waiting for the starting gun to fire, I listen to the conversations surrounding me:  there are chattering college kids home for the holiday and operating on only a couple hours sleep; busy cooks detailing last minute culinary changes; and, of course, participants engaging in fun-spirited critiquing of those sporting customary costumes.

I admire those runners willing to the don wigs and juggle props along the course.  I remember one year watching in awe as a group of Elvises hoisted a boom box while singing and smiling along the six mile course. I still don’t know how they did it—after pounding the pavement for six miles my iPod feels like a brick.

Everyone entered in the race has a reason for running: for some it’s to gobble without the wobble after that second piece of pumpkin pie with extra whip cream, yet for others it’s an integral part of an arduous training program.

After crossing the finish line, I’ll get home in plenty of time to tend to the turkey, empty cans into a holiday bowl for the gross green bean casserole my husband still insists on, and even find time to ice my shin splints before the guests arrive.

Next Thursday give thanks to those who put their hearts and soles into annual Turkey Day traditions—both in the kitchen and on the course.

I am the Ebenezer Scrooge of Halloween.

Drive by my house and you won’t see any haunting headstones littering my lawn, nor will you find creepy cobwebs covering my shrubs.

You can keep your spooky ghosts and garish ghouls, too.  The only kinds of spirits I like are the ones served in pretty cocktail glasses, thank you.

You also won’t find me stranded in the middle of an elaborate Halloween inspired Headless Horseman corn maze calling 911 to rescue me and my family like those lost thrill-seekers in Massachusetts a couple of weeks ago.  If I am wandering aimlessly through an hour-long labyrinth you will find me at Costco.

I do, however, enjoy this time of year.  I just prefer to observe the other October offerings:  The World Series, Oktoberfest, and homecoming. When my yearly calendar opts to omit the October 31 date from its pages, then I’ll find cause for celebration.

It’s hard to pinpoint what I dislike most about the frightful holiday; it’s kind of like cauliflower, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth and I simply don’t like it.

But, with two kids it hasn’t always been so easy to ditch the day. 

When my boys were little we made every effort to participate in local costume parades, join in festive holiday fairs, and carve out the perfect pumpkins.

I played the part of Happy Halloween Mom for years and even went so far as to dress from head to toe in holiday orange and black—a scary sight indeed.  We bought costumes, lots of costumes.  As infants, my kids’ first Halloweens were each spent swaddled in a green hooded Pea in a Pod costume.  As they grew older, we moved on to Buzz Lightyear and Woody outfits, progressing eventually into ninja and super hero territory. 

Once they started middle school, I decided to come clean:  I confessed to my kids that Halloween ranks as my least favorite holiday—a revelation I realize likely left them both emotionally scarred.

After my announcement, Halloween hocus pocus officially became an activity delegated to dad—just like math, I don’t understand that either.

Yet, when it comes to trick-or-treating, I’m not a heartless monster; I do like seeing all the cute kids in costumes as they come to the door.

We may not have the most festive house on the block, but every year we carve pumpkins (some family members more enthusiastically than others) and place our jack-o-lanterns on our porch, hoping miniature mummies and witches stop by for some candy.

Last Halloween we hardly saw any trick-or-treaters.  It might have had something to do with the lack of decorations or the fact that our front door was under repair and missing its usual pretty glass panel—in its place hung a huge piece of plywood.

That evening I sat upstairs, reading in a room which looks out at the street.  Soon I saw two young boys approach our house, each hauling a huge pillowcase appearing to hold enough candy to make Willy Wonka weak at the knees.  As the boys neared our front door they stopped in their tracks, then I heard one boy say, “Don’t go there, that house is foreclosed.”

While it never crossed my mind that our boarded-up door might trick the costumed kids and keep them from claiming their treats, the Scrooge in me had to laugh.  Bah, humbug!

When the widespread power outage hit earlier this month, I watched as some of my neighbors’ grabbed flashlights and waited for nightfall while others gripped belongings and headed toward the northern lights.

My family weighed the pros and cons of staying home in the dark that night. Discussing the uncertainty of the power problem, my son asked the obvious question on all of our minds, “Does Facebook still work?”

Deciding to stay, my older son volunteered to drive to the grocery store to stock up on supplies.  He wasn’t alone in his quest, and by the time he arrived most of the ice and water had been snapped up; instead, he returned home about thirty minutes later with root beer, tortilla chips, salsa, chocolate donuts, and lifesavers candy (I’m pretty sure the irony escaped him). 

I must admit I voted to leave, but for a good reason:  that night my husband and I planned to celebrate our wedding anniversary and I wanted the gourmet dinner and air conditioning I’d been promised.

Instead of a quiet dinner for two, we sat in the backyard and watched our sons throw mountains of semi-frozen meat onto the barbeque while juggling cell phones trying to reach friends still blessed with phone service.

We got through the night with plenty of provisions: bags of batteries, bottles of water, and containers of frozen food—the only thing in short supply seemed to be my patience. 

My impatience during the night only led to frustration the next morning when our electricity returned and I realized the widespread power outage had prompted Capistrano Unified School District to close their approximately 50 schools.

Via various texts, emails, and websites I read that most classes at San Clemente High School were canceled, and the remaining classes were cancelled. Already aggravated, the dual spelling sent me spiraling; I have been bugged for years about the convoluted communication, is it one or two ls:  canceled or cancelled?

Knowing I couldn’t call the English Department at SCHS for an answer, I naturally turned to the web.

I surfed over to our city’s website and stumbled onto the News & Calendar tab.  They seemed to share my bewilderment.  On the same page, they listed the Beaches, Parks & Recreation Commission Meeting as “cancelled” and Courtney’s Sandcastle Golf Fundraiser as “canceled.”

Next, I attempted to reschedule our dinner reservation by sending an email to the restaurant.  In return, I received a notice from their website confirming my reservation had been “canceled,” and thanking me for using their online reservation “cancellation’” system.  Come on people, let’s have some consistency, please.

Many times, while walking through an airport, I’ve stopped to read flight status boards to find my plane or gate.  While searching for my flight, I’ve noticed that airlines sharing the same boards often post flight status differently with some preferring “canceled” and others “cancelled.”

A recent Huffington Post hurricane headline read: “Irene Flight Cancellations,” and the text immediately following began “FlightAware, which tracks cancelations,…”

An indecisive news report from Yahoo News, read:  “Flight cancelled after white powder found on plane…a Jet Blue Airways flight to Florida was canceled….”

I suppose my curiosity, or preoccupation, with spelling and grammar stems from my early childhood.  My grandmother would use a red pen to correct the letters I would send to her, and then she’d return the letters to me so I could correct the marked grammatical and spelling errors.  It sounds terrible, I know, but she was a well-regarded English teacher at a local high school and simply doing what came naturally, or so I am told.

Still searching for a spelling clarification, I turned to the Merriam-Webster online dictionary.  According to the site both spellings - canceled and cancelled - are acceptable; but, most of their examples use canceled, not cancelled.

The power might be back on, but I am still in the dark.