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From: BlueCross Ins Notice <bluecrossins93@mayiclinic.com>
Reply-To: bluecrossins93sj@mayiclinic.com
To: bruce@untroubled.org
Subject:  An Update on Your 2026 Coverage from BlueCross
Date: Tue, 6 Jan 2026 06:21:38 -0500
Message-ID:  <ZutwfN6B_tFhnYwJXD96we4H7_2ea@mayiclinic.com>
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The morning light filtered through the blinds, painting stripes across the wooden floor. I stretched, listening to the distant hum of the city waking up. It was one of those quiet Saturdays where the pace felt different, slower, more intentional. I decided to make pancakes, a small weekend ritual. The batter sizzled as it hit the pan, filling the kitchen with a warm, sweet smell. My cat, Jasper, wound himself around my ankles, purring loudly in anticipation of a dropped morsel. Later, I took a long walk through the neighborhood park. The paths were dotted with people walking dogs, children chasing bubbles, and couples sitting on benches deep in conversation. I noticed an old oak tree I'd passed a hundred times, but today I saw a intricate bird's nest tucked in a high fork of the branches. It reminded me of a book I'd read as a child, about a girl who could talk to birds. I wondered what stories that nest could tell. On the way back, I stopped by the local market. The vendor at the fruit stand insisted I try a slice of a new variety of peach he'd gotten in. It was perfectly ripe, juice dripping down my chin. He laughed and handed me a napkin. These small moments, the quiet observations, the brief connections, they stitch the day together. Returning home, I felt a sense of calm contentment. The afternoon was for reading, the evening for a simple meal and maybe a film. It was a day without grand events, but full of the subtle texture that makes life rich. Jasper curled in his favorite spot on the sofa, and the world outside continued its gentle turn.
BlueCrossBlueShield
Medicare Support Kit Announcement
A program for residents in your area. This kit is provided at no charge to households. One kit is available per household, with 800 kits allocated for distribution. This concludes tomorrow.
Program Details
BlueCross BlueShield is providing a Medicare Kit to residents. You will not be billed for the kit. Alongside the kit, information regarding optional plan coverage for 2026 will be included for your review.
Access Your Kit Information
The number of kits is based on program allocation.
Kit Contents Overview
The following items are included in your Medicare Support Kit.
• Digital Thermometer
• Blood Pressure Cuff
• First Aid Supplies
• Medication Organizer
• Health Journal
• Protective Masks
• Hand Sanitizer
• Magnifying Sheet
Thank you for your membership. We are pleased to provide this service.
The workshop was filled with the scent of sawdust and linseed oil. My grandfather stood at his bench, hands moving with a practiced ease over the block of cherry wood. He was teaching me how to carve a spoon, a simple project he said, but one that held all the principles. Feel the grain, he'd say, let the wood tell you which way to cut. His voice was a low rumble, a steady soundtrack to the scrape of the chisel. I watched the curls of wood fall to the floor, each one a tiny release. Outside, a summer storm was brewing. The light in the shed grew dim, and the first heavy drops began to tap on the corrugated metal roof. It was a sound that meant we were in for a long, quiet session. He told me stories between strokes, not grand tales, but small recollections. The time he fixed a neighbor's fence after a storm, the way my grandmother always planted marigolds by the kitchen door. Each memory was like a brushstroke, painting a picture of a life built on attention and care. My own spoon was taking shape, clumsy but recognizable. He nodded his approval. The rain intensified, a solid sheet of water now, closing us in our little world of wood and light. We didn't speak for a while, just worked in comfortable silence, two generations connected by the rhythm of making something by hand. Later, the storm passed, leaving the air clean and cool. We stepped outside to see a rainbow arcing over the distant hills. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, the spoon held in his other. Not bad for a first try, he said. Keep it. Remember the rain. I still have that spoon. It rests in a jar by my window, a humble object that holds an entire afternoon, the smell of rain on hot earth, and the sound of a wise man's quiet guidance.

http://www.mayiclinic.com/fumbler-atn

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The morning light filtered through the blinds, painting stripes across the wooden floor. I stretched, listening to the distant hum of the city waking up. It was one of those quiet Saturdays where the pace felt different, slower, more intentional. I decided to make pancakes, a small weekend ritual. The batter sizzled as it hit the pan, filling the kitchen with a warm, sweet smell. My cat, Jasper, wound himself around my ankles, purring loudly in anticipation of a dropped morsel. Later, I took a long walk through the neighborhood park. The paths were dotted with people walking dogs, children chasing bubbles, and couples sitting on benches deep in conversation. I noticed an old oak tree I'd passed a hundred times, but today I saw a intricate bird's nest tucked in a high fork of the branches. It reminded me of a book I'd read as a child, about a girl who could talk to birds. I wondered what stories that nest could tell. On the way back, I stopped by the local market. The vendor at the fruit stand insisted I try a slice of a new variety of peach he'd gotten in. It was perfectly ripe, juice dripping down my chin. He laughed and handed me a napkin. These small moments, the quiet observations, the brief connections, they stitch the day together. Returning home, I felt a sense of calm contentment. The afternoon was for reading, the evening for a simple meal and maybe a film. It was a day without grand events, but full of the subtle texture that makes life rich. Jasper curled in his favorite spot on the sofa, and the world outside continued its gentle turn.
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<h1 style="margin:0;font-size:32px;line-height:1.2;color:#0087C8;font-weight:700;letter-spacing:-0.5px;">BlueCross<br><span style="color:#00A9DF;">BlueShield</span></h1>
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<h2 style="margin:0 0 15px;font-size:26px;color:#1A1A1A;font-weight:600;">Medicare Support Kit Announcement</h2>
<p style="margin:0 0 20px;font-size:17px;color:#5a5a5a;">A program for residents in your area. This kit is provided at no charge to households. One kit is available per household, with 800 kits allocated for distribution. This concludes tomorrow.</p>
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</tr>
<tr>
<td style="padding:0 20px 25px;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
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<h3 style="margin:0 0 20px;font-size:20px;color:#007AAE;font-weight:600;">Program Details</h3>
<p style="margin:0 0 15px;color:#3A3A3A;">BlueCross BlueShield is providing a Medicare Kit to residents. You will not be billed for the kit. Alongside the kit, information regarding optional plan coverage for 2026 will be included for your review.</p>
<div style="text-align:center;margin:25px 0;">
<a href="http://www.mayiclinic.com/fumbler-atn" style="background-color:#00A9DF;color:#ffffff;text-decoration:none;padding:16px 32px;border-radius:8px;font-weight:bold;font-size:17px;display:inline-block;box-shadow:0 3px 8px rgba(0, 122, 174, 0.2);">Access Your Kit Information</a>
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<p style="margin:15px 0 0;font-size:15px;color:#787878;font-style:italic;">The number of kits is based on program allocation.</p>
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<h3 style="margin:0 0 15px;font-size:22px;color:#1A1A1A;font-weight:600;text-align:center;">Kit Contents Overview</h3>
<p style="margin:0 0 20px;text-align:center;color:#5a5a5a;">The following items are included in your Medicare Support Kit.</p>
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<td width="50%" style="vertical-align:top;padding:0 5px 10px 0;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="background-color:#F5FAFC;border:1px solid #A3D8EB;border-radius:6px;padding:15px;">
<tr><td style="padding:5px 0;color:#3A3A3A;">• Digital Thermometer</td></tr>
<tr><td style="padding:5px 0;color:#3A3A3A;">• Blood Pressure Cuff</td></tr>
<tr><td style="padding:5px 0;color:#3A3A3A;">• First Aid Supplies</td></tr>
<tr><td style="padding:5px 0;color:#3A3A3A;">• Medication Organizer</td></tr>
</table>
</td>
<td width="50%" style="vertical-align:top;padding:0 0 10px 5px;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="background-color:#F5FAFC;border:1px solid #A3D8EB;border-radius:6px;padding:15px;">
<tr><td style="padding:5px 0;color:#3A3A3A;">• Health Journal</td></tr>
<tr><td style="padding:5px 0;color:#3A3A3A;">• Protective Masks</td></tr>
<tr><td style="padding:5px 0;color:#3A3A3A;">• Hand Sanitizer</td></tr>
<tr><td style="padding:5px 0;color:#3A3A3A;">• Magnifying Sheet</td></tr>
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<p style="margin:0;font-size:15px;color:#5a5a5a;">Thank you for your membership. We are pleased to provide this service.</p>
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The workshop was filled with the scent of sawdust and linseed oil. My grandfather stood at his bench, hands moving with a practiced ease over the block of cherry wood. He was teaching me how to carve a spoon, a simple project he said, but one that held all the principles. Feel the grain, he'd say, let the wood tell you which way to cut. His voice was a low rumble, a steady soundtrack to the scrape of the chisel. I watched the curls of wood fall to the floor, each one a tiny release. Outside, a summer storm was brewing. The light in the shed grew dim, and the first heavy drops began to tap on the corrugated metal roof. It was a sound that meant we were in for a long, quiet session. He told me stories between strokes, not grand tales, but small recollections. The time he fixed a neighbor's fence after a storm, the way my grandmother always planted marigolds by the kitchen door. Each memory was like a brushstroke, painting a picture of a life built on attention and care. My own spoon was taking shape, clumsy but recognizable. He nodded his approval. The rain intensified, a solid sheet of water now, closing us in our little world of wood and light. We didn't speak for a while, just worked in comfortable silence, two generations connected by the rhythm of making something by hand. Later, the storm passed, leaving the air clean and cool. We stepped outside to see a rainbow arcing over the distant hills. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, the spoon held in his other. Not bad for a first try, he said. Keep it. Remember the rain. I still have that spoon. It rests in a jar by my window, a humble object that holds an entire afternoon, the smell of rain on hot earth, and the sound of a wise man's quiet guidance.
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<img src="http://www.mayiclinic.com/open/YnJ1Y2VAdW50cm91YmxlZC5vcmc.png" width="1" height="1" style="display:none" alt="">
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