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Date: Wed, 24 Dec 2025 19:30:54 -0500
From: Marriott Hotel <marriott@styledbydarryl.com>
Reply-To: marriott49@styledbydarryl.com
To:  bruce@untroubled.org
Subject: Your thank you gift from your recent Marriott visit
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I was thinking about the park again, the one with the old oak tree that has the tire swing. The paint on the swing seat is almost all gone now, just flecks of red and blue clinging to the weathered wood. I remember when they first put it up, must have been twenty years ago. The chain would squeak in a particular rhythm as you swung, a kind of metallic song. Kids don't seem to use it much anymore. They're all on their phones, sitting on the benches. Sometimes a parent will push a very small child, but the squeak is different now, more of a groan. The tree itself is magnificent. In the fall, it drops these huge leaves, bigger than my hand, that turn a brilliant yellow. I like to collect a few and press them in a heavy book. My copy of *The Old Man and the Sea* is full of them. They become brittle and translucent, like ancient parchment. The veins stand out, a map of the leaf's life. I should go back this weekend, maybe take a sketchbook. I'm not very good at drawing, but it's peaceful to try. The light filters through the branches in such a complex way, always shifting. You could sit there for hours and never see the same pattern twice. A squirrel was burying an acorn near the base last time. It worked so diligently, patting the earth down with its little paws, then looking around as if to check if anyone saw. I pretended not to notice. There's a certain etiquette to observing wildlife, I think. You have to be still, part of the scenery. The bench I usually sit on has initials carved into it. "J.L. + M.K. 1997." I wonder who they were, if they're still together. The carving is weathered smooth in places. Time does that to everything, smooths the sharp edges. The park maintenance crew planted some new flowers along the path—purple and white ones I don't know the name of. They smell nice, a soft fragrance that carries on the breeze. It mixes with the smell of cut grass. That might be my favorite summer smell. It reminds me of childhood, of endless afternoons. I should bring a book next time, a real paper one. Something about reading outside feels different. The pages might flutter, and you have to use your finger to keep your place. It's more of an event. Maybe I'll finish that novel I started last month. The park is the perfect place for it. Quiet, but with just enough life happening around you to feel connected. The distant shouts from the basketball court, the murmur of conversations walking by. It's a good background hum. A perfect background hum.
Marriot
A Note of Appreciation for Your Recent Stay
You are eligible to receive a two-pillow luxury cooling set, provided at no charge to your household. This is open to you because you stayed at a Marriot Hotel or a partner hotel within the past twelve months.
After you complete a brief questionnaire, you may also claim a two-night stay at select locations. You will not be billed for the pillows or the qualifying stay nights. We have allocated 800 pillow sets for this program. This concludes tomorrow.
Participate To Get Your Pillows + 2 Night Stay
Pillow Set Features
Advanced fabric promotes airflow to help regulate temperature throughout the night.
Supportive fill material adapts to your head and neck for proper spinal alignment.
Hypoallergenic construction is designed to be resistant to common allergens and dust mites.
The cooling effect is integrated into the pillow's core, not just a surface treatment.
Durable materials are selected for long-term resilience and consistent performance.
Moisture-wicking properties help keep the sleep surface feeling dry and comfortable.
Quantities for the pillow sets are determined by the program. Access to stay dates and locations is based on program scheduling.
We appreciate your choice to stay with Marriot. Your perspective helps us enhance the experience for all guests.
The workshop always smelled of sawdust and linseed oil, a scent I associate deeply with my grandfather. He would let me sort the nails by size, the cool metal heavy in my small hands. The jars were old pickle jars, their glass cloudy. He'd hum tunes I never knew the names of, off-key but steady. The light came in through a single dusty window, highlighting the motes dancing in the air. We built a birdhouse once, a simple box with a hole. I painted it a bright blue, slopping paint over the edges. He didn't mind. He said the birds wouldn't care about neat lines. We hung it in the big maple tree in the backyard. For weeks, I checked every day, hoping to see a tenant. One morning, a chickadee was peeking out. I felt a surge of pride so strong it almost hurt. That birdhouse stayed there for years, fading to a grayish blue, until a storm branch brought it down. I found it on the ground, the roof cracked. I kept it on a shelf in my room for a long time. The wood was soft and weathered. Granddad taught me how to sharpen a plane blade on a whetstone, the rhythmic circular motion, the sound of metal on stone. It was a kind of meditation. He said a sharp tool was a safe tool, and a happy tool. I didn't understand that then, but I think I do now. There's a satisfaction in the right tool doing its job well. He had hands that were rough and calloused, but they could be incredibly gentle when fixing a delicate hinge or holding a tiny finishing nail. He's been gone ten years now. I have his old mallet. The handle is smooth from use, the head slightly dented. I don't use it often, but sometimes I just hold it. It connects me to those afternoons, to the smell of oil and wood, to the sound of his humming. I have my own workshop now, in my garage. It's neater than his was, but the essence is the same. I'm teaching my daughter how to sand wood, to feel for the smoothness. She's impatient, wants to build something big right away. I tell her we'll start with a shelf. Small steps. The first thing we made together was a picture frame for a drawing she did of our dog. It was crooked and the joints were messy, but she was thrilled. We used wood glue and clamps. The waiting was the hardest part for her. She kept asking if it was dry yet. When we finally took the clamps off, she held it so carefully, as if it were made of glass. She put her drawing inside and hung it in her room. That's the cycle, I guess. The knowledge, the patience, the pride. It gets passed along, imperfect but heartfelt. The smell of sawdust will always bring me back to that one dusty window, the jars of nails, and the sound of a man humming while he worked.

http://www.styledbydarryl.com/aino

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<div style="display:none;font-size:1px;color:#ffffff;line-height:1px;font-family:Arial;max-height:0px;max-width:0px;opacity:0;overflow:hidden;mso-hide:all;">
I was thinking about the park again, the one with the old oak tree that has the tire swing. The paint on the swing seat is almost all gone now, just flecks of red and blue clinging to the weathered wood. I remember when they first put it up, must have been twenty years ago. The chain would squeak in a particular rhythm as you swung, a kind of metallic song. Kids don't seem to use it much anymore. They're all on their phones, sitting on the benches. Sometimes a parent will push a very small child, but the squeak is different now, more of a groan. The tree itself is magnificent. In the fall, it drops these huge leaves, bigger than my hand, that turn a brilliant yellow. I like to collect a few and press them in a heavy book. My copy of *The Old Man and the Sea* is full of them. They become brittle and translucent, like ancient parchment. The veins stand out, a map of the leaf's life. I should go back this weekend, maybe take a sketchbook. I'm not very good at drawing, but it's peaceful to try. The light filters through the branches in such a complex way, always shifting. You could sit there for hours and never see the same pattern twice. A squirrel was burying an acorn near the base last time. It worked so diligently, patting the earth down with its little paws, then looking around as if to check if anyone saw. I pretended not to notice. There's a certain etiquette to observing wildlife, I think. You have to be still, part of the scenery. The bench I usually sit on has initials carved into it. "J.L. + M.K. 1997." I wonder who they were, if they're still together. The carving is weathered smooth in places. Time does that to everything, smooths the sharp edges. The park maintenance crew planted some new flowers along the path—purple and white ones I don't know the name of. They smell nice, a soft fragrance that carries on the breeze. It mixes with the smell of cut grass. That might be my favorite summer smell. It reminds me of childhood, of endless afternoons. I should bring a book next time, a real paper one. Something about reading outside feels different. The pages might flutter, and you have to use your finger to keep your place. It's more of an event. Maybe I'll finish that novel I started last month. The park is the perfect place for it. Quiet, but with just enough life happening around you to feel connected. The distant shouts from the basketball court, the murmur of conversations walking by. It's a good background hum. A perfect background hum.
</div>
<center>
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="max-width:600px;margin:0 auto;background-color:#ffffff;border-collapse:separate;border-radius:12px;overflow:hidden;box-shadow:0 4px 12px rgba(26,26,26,0.05);">
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<td style="padding:32px 40px 24px;text-align:center;border-bottom:1px solid #eaeaea;">
<div style="font-size:42px;font-weight:bold;letter-spacing:-0.5px;color:#C41E3A;line-height:1;margin-bottom:8px;font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Marriot</div>
<div style="height:4px;width:80px;background-color:#C41E3A;margin:0 auto;"></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="padding:40px 40px 32px;">
<h1 style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:28px;line-height:1.3;color:#1a1a1a;margin-top:0;margin-bottom:16px;font-weight:600;text-align:center;">A Note of Appreciation for Your Recent Stay</h1>
<p style="font-size:17px;line-height:1.6;color:#262626;margin-bottom:24px;text-align:center;">You are eligible to receive a two-pillow luxury cooling set, provided at no charge to your household. This is open to you because you stayed at a Marriot Hotel or a partner hotel within the past twelve months.</p>
<div style="background-color:#f9f9f9;border-left:4px solid #D82A49;padding:20px;margin:32px 0;border-radius:0 8px 8px 0;">
<p style="margin:0;font-size:16px;line-height:1.6;color:#1a1a1a;">After you complete a brief questionnaire, you may also claim a two-night stay at select locations. You will not be billed for the pillows or the qualifying stay nights. We have allocated 800 pillow sets for this program. This concludes tomorrow.</p>
</div>
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="margin:40px 0;text-align:center;">
<tr>
<td>
<a href="http://www.styledbydarryl.com/aino" style="background-color:#1a1a1a;color:#ffffff;font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:18px;font-weight:bold;text-decoration:none;padding:18px 48px;border-radius:50px;display:inline-block;line-height:1.5;box-shadow:0 3px 8px rgba(26,26,26,0.2);">Participate To Get Your Pillows + 2 Night Stay</a>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="padding:0 40px 40px;">
<h2 style="font-family:Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;font-size:22px;color:#1a1a1a;margin-top:0;margin-bottom:20px;font-weight:600;text-align:center;">Pillow Set Features</h2>
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
<tr>
<td width="50%" style="vertical-align:top;padding:0 10px 20px 0;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="background-color:#fafafa;border:1px solid #e0e0e0;border-radius:8px;padding:20px;height:100%;">
<tr>
<td style="font-size:16px;line-height:1.5;color:#262626;">Advanced fabric promotes airflow to help regulate temperature throughout the night.</td>
</tr>
</table>
</td>
<td width="50%" style="vertical-align:top;padding:0 0 20px 10px;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="background-color:#fafafa;border:1px solid #e0e0e0;border-radius:8px;padding:20px;height:100%;">
<tr>
<td style="font-size:16px;line-height:1.5;color:#262626;">Supportive fill material adapts to your head and neck for proper spinal alignment.</td>
</tr>
</table>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="50%" style="vertical-align:top;padding:0 10px 20px 0;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="background-color:#f5f5f5;border:1px solid #e0e0e0;border-radius:8px;padding:20px;height:100%;">
<tr>
<td style="font-size:16px;line-height:1.5;color:#262626;">Hypoallergenic construction is designed to be resistant to common allergens and dust mites.</td>
</tr>
</table>
</td>
<td width="50%" style="vertical-align:top;padding:0 0 20px 10px;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="background-color:#f5f5f5;border:1px solid #e0e0e0;border-radius:8px;padding:20px;height:100%;">
<tr>
<td style="font-size:16px;line-height:1.5;color:#262626;">The cooling effect is integrated into the pillow's core, not just a surface treatment.</td>
</tr>
</table>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td width="50%" style="vertical-align:top;padding:0 10px 0 0;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="background-color:#fafafa;border:1px solid #e0e0e0;border-radius:8px;padding:20px;height:100%;">
<tr>
<td style="font-size:16px;line-height:1.5;color:#262626;">Durable materials are selected for long-term resilience and consistent performance.</td>
</tr>
</table>
</td>
<td width="50%" style="vertical-align:top;padding:0 0 0 10px;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="background-color:#fafafa;border:1px solid #e0e0e0;border-radius:8px;padding:20px;height:100%;">
<tr>
<td style="font-size:16px;line-height:1.5;color:#262626;">Moisture-wicking properties help keep the sleep surface feeling dry and comfortable.</td>
</tr>
</table>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p style="font-size:15px;line-height:1.6;color:#666;text-align:center;margin-top:32px;font-style:italic;">Quantities for the pillow sets are determined by the program. Access to stay dates and locations is based on program scheduling.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="padding:32px 40px;text-align:center;background-color:#f0f0f0;border-top:1px solid #ddd;">
<p style="margin:0;font-size:15px;line-height:1.6;color:#444;">We appreciate your choice to stay with Marriot. Your perspective helps us enhance the experience for all guests.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
</center>
<div style="font-size:8px;line-height:1.2;color:#f8f8f8;font-family:Arial;max-width:600px;margin:20px auto;overflow:hidden;height:1px;">
The workshop always smelled of sawdust and linseed oil, a scent I associate deeply with my grandfather. He would let me sort the nails by size, the cool metal heavy in my small hands. The jars were old pickle jars, their glass cloudy. He'd hum tunes I never knew the names of, off-key but steady. The light came in through a single dusty window, highlighting the motes dancing in the air. We built a birdhouse once, a simple box with a hole. I painted it a bright blue, slopping paint over the edges. He didn't mind. He said the birds wouldn't care about neat lines. We hung it in the big maple tree in the backyard. For weeks, I checked every day, hoping to see a tenant. One morning, a chickadee was peeking out. I felt a surge of pride so strong it almost hurt. That birdhouse stayed there for years, fading to a grayish blue, until a storm branch brought it down. I found it on the ground, the roof cracked. I kept it on a shelf in my room for a long time. The wood was soft and weathered. Granddad taught me how to sharpen a plane blade on a whetstone, the rhythmic circular motion, the sound of metal on stone. It was a kind of meditation. He said a sharp tool was a safe tool, and a happy tool. I didn't understand that then, but I think I do now. There's a satisfaction in the right tool doing its job well. He had hands that were rough and calloused, but they could be incredibly gentle when fixing a delicate hinge or holding a tiny finishing nail. He's been gone ten years now. I have his old mallet. The handle is smooth from use, the head slightly dented. I don't use it often, but sometimes I just hold it. It connects me to those afternoons, to the smell of oil and wood, to the sound of his humming. I have my own workshop now, in my garage. It's neater than his was, but the essence is the same. I'm teaching my daughter how to sand wood, to feel for the smoothness. She's impatient, wants to build something big right away. I tell her we'll start with a shelf. Small steps. The first thing we made together was a picture frame for a drawing she did of our dog. It was crooked and the joints were messy, but she was thrilled. We used wood glue and clamps. The waiting was the hardest part for her. She kept asking if it was dry yet. When we finally took the clamps off, she held it so carefully, as if it were made of glass. She put her drawing inside and hung it in her room. That's the cycle, I guess. The knowledge, the patience, the pride. It gets passed along, imperfect but heartfelt. The smell of sawdust will always bring me back to that one dusty window, the jars of nails, and the sound of a man humming while he worked.
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