Boston Globe columnist Mark Feeney declares his affection for “ridiculously tame” urban ponds in a wry “G” section essay, “Fond of the Pond.” Bypassing the grandeur of more distant monumental landscapes, he’s quite happy with the human scale of Boston’s Fresh Pond as a strolling destination and calming object of contemplation. In fact he likes this pond so much he contemplates the rewards of a Viking style funeral on its waters. (Let’s hope he’ll choose a flaming wooden rowboat over a plastic kyack, for ecological reward points in the great hereafter.) Now as an avowed pond lover, I was predestined to enjoy his ode to the joys of simple pond pleasures, but how many Earthponds visitors know that I wrote an entire book about the glorious (and not-so-glorious) options available in the underworld of funeral choices, Round Trip to Deadsville. Oddly enough, of all the choices available today to the creative funeral planner, it never occurred to me to put ponds and Viking funerals together. (Apologies to my Irish-Norwegian ancestors!) The only excuse I can summon is the one that faces me as I look out the window this January morning. The ice on my pond is three feet thick. Weren’t those Vikings clever with all that salt water anti-freeze!