What can be said about the Duck Pond? To those of you who ask this question and are possessed of the notion that a duck pond has ducks and ponds and nothing else I can pleasantly offer you a tale of pain, mutation and bread. Some of you may notice that I have given The Duck Pond the eminent crown of the proper name because two weeks ago it transcended a mere pool of filth and feathers and became an event. A few weeks ago Annie, myself and Lindsay-Brian family decided it was about time to visit The Duck Pond. I think the desire arose more from the fear of Sam’s violent reaction to our furniture and the parents need to feel free to breath with a languid rhythm. To The Duck Pond we went. For brevity’s sake I will skip the tale of the journey itself. Before us now lay the very pond I have spoken of. It was less than I expected yet somehow more. The Pond was small and it certainly was worked upon by ducks but they seemed mild and lazy. Yet the murky water obfuscated the vision and tantalized the brain with wonders of the sea. Half an inch below the water was a complete mystery and any idea I had previously held that ponds and lakes were disgusting immediately left me as I realized the filth in The Pond was not a tribute to bacteria, algae and animal droppings but rather it held the same magical properties as a cardboard box or a mysterious magical door that could lead to outer space or a clean Wal-Mart. I had been standing at the edge of The Pond thinking about the very essence of life and realized that as I stood there pondering existence I was missing the chance to throw balls of bread at ducks heads. The bread was handed out, and when I say bread I really mean the bakery that Brian brought along. I began to see how accurately I could throw a ball of bread at a duck. As I did this something happened…something that cannot be contained within this blog entry. Thankfully it can be contained in the next one.