My Lewis and Clark homework isn't going very well. The book is good and I am loving reading it, but the only time I have been able to open it up is right before bed . . . snuggled comfy in the covers . . . as the day's (yawn) troubles melt away in a pleasant haze beneath . . . my . . . (snore) . . . um . . . pillow. Lewis and Clark are interesting guys, but their nonfiction selves just can't compete.
To top this off, I've done something I always got mad at my mom for doing. I read the end of the book. It doesn't turn out well for Lewis. No, it does not. It cannot have helped that his mama named him Meriweather.
I fear poor Brent will have to drive across western North Dakota/ Eastern Montana* listening to Lisa's Readers Theatre. Sometimes there are different voices for the characters. Lewis probably has a Virginia drawl.
*Beloved Southern and Eastern friends and loved ones, this is a drive that could be done with a brick on the acceleration pedal and a rope tied to the steering wheel. Welcome to the prairie.