T.M.E.A. (The Music Educator's Alibi)
I was driving down the highway on my way back home from the Texas Music Educator's Association convention in San Antonio. It's easy and natural for a mind to wander and think about all kinds of things as one is driving down the highway. It's about this mental-highway-regurgitation - the chewing of the mental cud that I will share in this blog.
I was so wrapped up in thinking about the blues and jazz session that I had attended earlier in the day that I found myself two hours from Ft. Stockton. That wouldn't have been a problem if it hadn't been that I was supposed to be headed North toward Abilene, not West, toward Ft. Stockton.
As I traveled down Interstate 10, I noticed the speed limit had been changed to 80! At first, I thought I had misread the sign, but sure enough, only a couple of miles down the road, I saw the sign again! I edged my speed up to 78. Wow! What luck! At this speed, I should be home even earlier than I had anticipated.
Do you think that maybe seeing an 80 mile per hour sign would have been a clue that perhaps I was on the wrong road? Nope. I was in an 80 mile per hour denial. All I thought of at the time was - hmmmm, I guess the speed limit must have changed over the weekend. (selective reasoning)
Still traveling the wrong direction, I returned to my mental cud chewing and shortly noticed a police-type-car (no markings except that it had flashing grill lights) over on the side of the road. From a distance, I could see what appeared to be two darker mounds on the grassy embankment. As I neared the scene, the two mounds turned into two men hunched over in the grass, apparently looking for something. I decided to pull over and offer my assistance.
I approached the officer cautiously. He had that stern, serious look in his eyes as he rose upward to face my approach.
I said, "Officer? Do you need any assistance?" I raised my hands to indicate I was without any weapons. He asked, "Are you a law enforcement official?" To which I replied, "No Sir, I'm an elementary music teacher and I'm capable of handling anything." At that point my imagination bubble burst as I realized I was 120 miles from Ft. Stockton and I had just seen a sign telling me that Sonora was the next exit. What??? I had felt so empowered and proud of my profession from the brilliant clinicians and cohorts at the convention, that I had driven 80 miles per hour in the wrong direction with a bemused smile on my face.
I turned around.
I won't go into further detail about how many miles I drove out of my way. I'd rather say that as I left San Antonio, I purchased two Venti Non-fat Lattes for the four hour trip. By the time I arrived in Abilene, a little over five and a half hours later, I had driven an extra latte out of my way.

