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To: bruce@untroubled.org
From: Sampler Steak Omaha <samplergoto@amybrook.com>
Reply-To: samplergoto28@amybrook.com
Date:  Sun, 4 Jan 2026 20:53:08 -0500
Subject:  0maha-Steaks Is Giving You A Steak SampIer - OnIy 500 Left - Get It
 Today
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The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting long stripes across the wooden floor. I sat with my notebook, the pages blank, waiting for the words to arrive. Outside, a bird was singing a repetitive, cheerful tune from the branch of the old maple tree. It was a sound I hadn't noticed before, not really. The neighbor's dog barked once, a sharp sound that echoed, then silence returned. I thought about the book I was reading, a novel set in a coastal town where the weather was always a character. The protagonist was walking along a pebbled beach, searching for a specific shell her grandmother had described. The description of the sea air, salty and thick, was so vivid I could almost taste it. My own coffee had gone cold on the desk beside me. I should get up and make a fresh cup. The kitchen tiles would be cool underfoot. I wondered if I had any of those citrus biscuits left, the ones with the faint glaze. Probably not. The list for the market was on the fridge, written in my own hurried script. It needed parsley, and maybe some fresh thyme if it looked good. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, a sound so constant it usually faded into the background. Today, for some reason, each tick felt deliberate. I stretched my arms above my head, feeling the pull in my shoulders from sitting too long. The postman's van rumbled down the street, pausing at each mailbox. I wasn't expecting anything, but there's always a little hope when you hear that sound. A memory surfaced, unbidden: my grandfather teaching me how to whistle using a blade of grass held between my thumbs. I could never get it to work, but he could produce a loud, piercing sound that made the dogs next door howl. He'd laugh, a deep, rumbling laugh that shook his whole frame. The bird outside changed its song, introducing a new series of notes. I should learn what kind of bird that is. There's a field guide somewhere on the shelf, buried behind photo albums. The sunbeam had moved, now illuminating a patch of the rug, highlighting the deep reds and blues in the pattern. I made a mental note to vacuum later. The quiet of the house was a presence itself, not empty, but full of small, settled things. The hum of the refrigerator kicked in, a low, familiar drone. It was time to start the day properly, to move from this chair and engage with the world beyond the window. The words for the notebook could wait. They often did.
Omaha Steaks
Premium cuts delivered for your table
A Gourmet Sampler from Our Kitchen
We are providing a selection of our hand‐selected steaks at no charge to a limited number of participants.
We have set aside 500 sampler boxes for this program. Each sampler is intended for one household. This arrangement concludes Tomorrow.
Our process involves hand‐selecting each cut and flash‐freezing it promptly to preserve quality and flavor. You will not be billed for the sampler.
See What's Included
Contents of the Sampler
Each sampler includes the following cuts.
Four Filet Mignons
Four Ribeye Steaks
Six Top Sirloins
Four New York Strips
The sampler is part of a specific program with a defined allocation. The typical value of such a collection exceeds six hundred dollars.
We appreciate your interest in Omaha Steaks.
© Omaha SteaksThis is a service message.
Walking through the park, the path was damp from a morning shower. Puddles reflected the broken gray sky above. I watched a man in a bright yellow jacket teaching his small dog to sit. The dog, a terrier mix with scruffy fur, was far more interested in a nearby squirrel. "Focus, Baxter," the man said, his voice patient. The squirrel chattered from the safety of an oak tree. I continued on, the gravel crunching under my shoes. A group of joggers passed by, their breath making little clouds in the cool air. One of them nodded, and I nodded back. The playground was empty, the swings moving slightly in the breeze. I remembered bringing my niece here last summer. She loved the twisty slide, going down again and again until her clothes were covered in wood chips. The memory made me smile. Near the pond, an elderly couple was sitting on a bench, sharing a thermos. They weren't talking, just sitting quietly together, watching the ducks. It was a comfortable silence. One of the ducks, a mallard with an iridescent green head, waddled onto the path, quacking softly. It looked at me expectantly. "Sorry, fellow," I said. "I didn't bring any bread." It seemed to understand, turning and heading back toward the water with a dignified waddle. The air smelled of wet earth and decaying leaves, a clean, autumnal scent. I found my usual bench, the one facing the small fountain that was turned off for the season. I sat and just listened. The distant hum of traffic, the call of a crow, the rustle of leaves. My thoughts drifted to the weekend ahead. I needed to return a library book. Maybe I'd try that new recipe for lentil soup, the one with the smoked paprika. I should call my sister. It had been a few days. The quiet moments in the park always helped sort things out, not by solving them, but by making them seem part of a larger, calmer picture. The man with the dog was walking away now, the terrier trotting happily beside him, the squirrel forgotten. The elderly couple stood up slowly, helping each other, and began their slow walk down the path. I took a deep breath, stood up, and decided to take the long way home, past the community garden where the last of the kale was still growing, dark green and sturdy.

http://www.amybrook.com/bb6h1j

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The morning light filtered through the blinds, casting long stripes across the wooden floor. I sat with my notebook, the pages blank, waiting for the words to arrive. Outside, a bird was singing a repetitive, cheerful tune from the branch of the old maple tree. It was a sound I hadn't noticed before, not really. The neighbor's dog barked once, a sharp sound that echoed, then silence returned. I thought about the book I was reading, a novel set in a coastal town where the weather was always a character. The protagonist was walking along a pebbled beach, searching for a specific shell her grandmother had described. The description of the sea air, salty and thick, was so vivid I could almost taste it. My own coffee had gone cold on the desk beside me. I should get up and make a fresh cup. The kitchen tiles would be cool underfoot. I wondered if I had any of those citrus biscuits left, the ones with the faint glaze. Probably not. The list for the market was on the fridge, written in my own hurried script. It needed parsley, and maybe some fresh thyme if it looked good. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, a sound so constant it usually faded into the background. Today, for some reason, each tick felt deliberate. I stretched my arms above my head, feeling the pull in my shoulders from sitting too long. The postman's van rumbled down the street, pausing at each mailbox. I wasn't expecting anything, but there's always a little hope when you hear that sound. A memory surfaced, unbidden: my grandfather teaching me how to whistle using a blade of grass held between my thumbs. I could never get it to work, but he could produce a loud, piercing sound that made the dogs next door howl. He'd laugh, a deep, rumbling laugh that shook his whole frame. The bird outside changed its song, introducing a new series of notes. I should learn what kind of bird that is. There's a field guide somewhere on the shelf, buried behind photo albums. The sunbeam had moved, now illuminating a patch of the rug, highlighting the deep reds and blues in the pattern. I made a mental note to vacuum later. The quiet of the house was a presence itself, not empty, but full of small, settled things. The hum of the refrigerator kicked in, a low, familiar drone. It was time to start the day properly, to move from this chair and engage with the world beyond the window. The words for the notebook could wait. They often did.
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<center>
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="max-width:600px;margin:0 auto;background-color:#ffffff;border-radius:8px;overflow:hidden;box-shadow:0 4px 12px rgba(0,0,0,0.05);">
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<td style="padding:32px 40px 24px;text-align:center;border-bottom:2px solid #e8dfd5;">
<div style="font-size:42px;font-weight:700;letter-spacing:-0.5px;color:#7a1519;font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;margin-bottom:8px;">Omaha Steaks</div>
<div style="font-size:16px;color:#6d6d6d;font-style:italic;border-top:1px dotted #d4c9bc;padding-top:12px;margin-top:8px;">Premium cuts delivered for your table</div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="padding:40px 40px 32px;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
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<td style="padding-bottom:24px;border-left:4px solid #c19b3f;padding-left:20px;">
<h1 style="font-size:28px;margin:0 0 12px 0;color:#2e2e2e;font-weight:600;font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">A Gourmet Sampler from Our Kitchen</h1>
<p style="margin:0;font-size:18px;color:#5a5a5a;line-height:1.4;">We are providing a selection of our hand‐selected steaks at no charge to a limited number of participants.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="padding-top:16px;">
<p style="margin:0 0 20px 0;font-size:16px;color:#3a3a3a;">We have set aside 500 sampler boxes for this program. Each sampler is intended for one household. This arrangement concludes Tomorrow.</p>
<p style="margin:0 0 28px 0;font-size:16px;color:#3a3a3a;">Our process involves hand‐selecting each cut and flash‐freezing it promptly to preserve quality and flavor. You will not be billed for the sampler.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="margin:36px 0;text-align:center;">
<tr>
<td>
<a href="http://www.amybrook.com/bb6h1j" style="background-color:#871a1f;color:#ffffff;font-size:18px;font-weight:bold;text-decoration:none;padding:18px 48px;border-radius:6px;display:inline-block;box-shadow:0 3px 8px rgba(135, 26, 31, 0.2);">See What's Included</a>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
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<td style="padding:32px 0 24px;">
<h2 style="font-size:22px;margin:0 0 20px 0;color:#2e2e2e;text-align:center;font-weight:600;font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Contents of the Sampler</h2>
<p style="text-align:center;color:#787878;font-size:15px;margin-bottom:24px;font-style:italic;">Each sampler includes the following cuts.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td>
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
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<td width="50%" style="vertical-align:top;">
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<td style="background-color:#fbf8f3;padding:16px 20px;border:1px solid #e3dbd2;border-radius:6px 0 0 6px;border-right:0;font-size:16px;">Four Filet Mignons</td>
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<td style="padding:16px 20px;border:1px solid #e3dbd2;border-radius:0;border-right:0;border-top:0;font-size:16px;">Four Ribeye Steaks</td>
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</table>
</td>
<td width="50%" style="vertical-align:top;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
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<td style="background-color:#fbf8f3;padding:16px 20px;border:1px solid #e3dbd2;border-radius:0 6px 0 0;font-size:16px;">Six Top Sirloins</td>
</tr>
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<td style="padding:16px 20px;border:1px solid #e3dbd2;border-radius:0 0 6px 0;border-top:0;font-size:16px;">Four New York Strips</td>
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<td style="padding-top:28px;">
<p style="margin:0;font-size:15px;color:#787878;text-align:center;padding:16px;background-color:#faf6f0;border-radius:4px;">The sampler is part of a specific program with a defined allocation. The typical value of such a collection exceeds six hundred dollars.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="padding:40px 40px;background-color:#faf6f0;border-top:1px solid #e8dfd5;text-align:center;">
<p style="margin:0 0 12px 0;font-size:15px;color:#5a5a5a;">We appreciate your interest in Omaha Steaks.</p>
<div style="height:4px;width:120px;background-color:#7a1519;margin:20px auto;border-radius:2px;"></div>
<p style="margin:12px 0 0 0;font-size:13px;color:#787878;">© Omaha Steaks<br>This is a service message.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
</center>
<div style="font-size:8px;line-height:10px;color:#f0e8dc;font-family:Arial;margin-top:20px;text-align:center;">
Walking through the park, the path was damp from a morning shower. Puddles reflected the broken gray sky above. I watched a man in a bright yellow jacket teaching his small dog to sit. The dog, a terrier mix with scruffy fur, was far more interested in a nearby squirrel. "Focus, Baxter," the man said, his voice patient. The squirrel chattered from the safety of an oak tree. I continued on, the gravel crunching under my shoes. A group of joggers passed by, their breath making little clouds in the cool air. One of them nodded, and I nodded back. The playground was empty, the swings moving slightly in the breeze. I remembered bringing my niece here last summer. She loved the twisty slide, going down again and again until her clothes were covered in wood chips. The memory made me smile. Near the pond, an elderly couple was sitting on a bench, sharing a thermos. They weren't talking, just sitting quietly together, watching the ducks. It was a comfortable silence. One of the ducks, a mallard with an iridescent green head, waddled onto the path, quacking softly. It looked at me expectantly. "Sorry, fellow," I said. "I didn't bring any bread." It seemed to understand, turning and heading back toward the water with a dignified waddle. The air smelled of wet earth and decaying leaves, a clean, autumnal scent. I found my usual bench, the one facing the small fountain that was turned off for the season. I sat and just listened. The distant hum of traffic, the call of a crow, the rustle of leaves. My thoughts drifted to the weekend ahead. I needed to return a library book. Maybe I'd try that new recipe for lentil soup, the one with the smoked paprika. I should call my sister. It had been a few days. The quiet moments in the park always helped sort things out, not by solving them, but by making them seem part of a larger, calmer picture. The man with the dog was walking away now, the terrier trotting happily beside him, the squirrel forgotten. The elderly couple stood up slowly, helping each other, and began their slow walk down the path. I took a deep breath, stood up, and decided to take the long way home, past the community garden where the last of the kale was still growing, dark green and sturdy.
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