All illustrations by Jessica Randklev.

Old Man Winslow, Illustrated by Jessica Randklev.

Dear The Bremelogger: I’ll be honest, I’ve completely overestimated Bremerton. What? You’re surprised that I’ve given your City of Destiny the benefit of the doubt? It’s no secret that your “fair” city has more problems than our Island has unemployed real estate agents, but I was under the impression that a few of the basics were under control. I was grossly mistaken.

When building a city, the rest of us do well to make sure that essentials are in place and strong. We call this “infrastructure.” Apparently when the people of Bremerton were cobbling together what would become a social, economic, and legislative eye sore, they cut a few corners. From what I hear from a few friends who got lost on the way back from Tacoma, a few balloons took down the power in most of West Bremerton on Friday morning. Balloons. A item with which to denote a celebration. When they put warnings on balloons about the choking potential they have for infants, I doubt the makers thought they would have to warn Bremertonians that the these devices could also choke off your power grid. This is really saying something. Bremerton’s outdone itself once again.

Yet, after catching up on your “news site” recently, I’m reminded that this particular instance may not be your fault, Logger. It is well documented that you were not born nor bred in Bremerton, but are a relative newcomer. And I read that a write-in candidate for the Bremerton mayor gig, Deborah Jackson, claims that “we built Bremerton” and that “all these newcomers that came here … come with their ideals and what they think we should have, when they left out what was our real needs.” OK, so do we have Deborah Jackson and whoever she’s grouping with her to blame for the frail infrastructure of the city? Or is it that all you newcomers have not been the proper stewards of what your forefathers left for you? Did she build the town that you’ve destroyed? Or were the walls built so thin that the touch of a party balloon could bring it down?

Think of it, Logger, over your next bowl of Robitussin. It is the season.

Yours,

Winslow

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