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To: bruce@untroubled.org
From: Marriott Hotel <marriotthote@hanamninhhanoi.com>
Reply-To: marriotthotekk@hanamninhhanoi.com
Date:  Wed, 7 Jan 2026 19:06:38 -0500
Subject:  Your thank you gift from your last stay at Marriott
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The morning light filtered through the tall windows of the library, casting long rectangles of gold across the worn oak floor. I was supposed to be organizing the travel section, but a particular book had caught my eye. It was an old atlas, its spine cracked and its pages thick with the smell of time. I opened it carefully, the paper whispering under my fingers. It fell open to a map of the Mediterranean, the blues of the sea faded to a soft grey, the names of coastal towns written in a delicate, looping script. My grandfather had loved maps. He would spread them out on the kitchen table, tracing routes with a blunt pencil, telling stories about places he had never been but dreamed of visiting. He spoke of train journeys through mountains and slow boats on wide rivers. His stories were never about the destination, but about the texture of the journey itself—the sound of different languages in a station, the taste of unfamiliar bread, the way the light changed from one valley to the next. I ran my finger along a dotted line that represented a railway, now probably gone, from one tiny dot to another. Outside, a bird called, a sharp, clear sound that echoed in the quiet room. Mrs. Allen, the head librarian, was at her desk, the soft tap-tap of her keyboard a steady rhythm. I wondered if she ever looked at these old books and imagined the hands that had held them before. Each one was a kind of journey, too. Someone had bought this atlas, perhaps planning a trip they never took. They had turned these pages, maybe with excitement, maybe with nostalgia. Now it was here, waiting for someone else to find it. I carefully closed the book, the cover cool against my palms, and placed it back on the cart. The journey for today was just to the shelf, but it felt connected to something larger, a quiet thread of stories and places all woven together in the quiet of the morning.
Marriot
A Gesture of Appreciation for Your Recent Stay
We are pleased to inform you that your stay at a Marriot or partner hotel within the last year makes you eligible for a hospitality package.
This package includes a set of two luxury cooling pillows, provided at no charge to your household. Following a brief questionnaire, you may also secure a two-night stay at participating locations, which will be provided at no charge. You will not be billed for the pillows or the qualifying stay nights.
This is open to you because you stayed with us or a partner hotel within the past year. One pillow set per household. The program concludes tomorrow.
Participate To Get Your Pillows + 2 Night Stay
Features of the Luxury Cooling Pillow Set
Engineered fabric promotes consistent air circulation.
Helps maintain a comfortable temperature throughout the night.
Designed to provide proper alignment for head and neck.
Hypoallergenic materials are used in the construction.
Retains its supportive shape over extended use.
The cover is removable for straightforward care.
The availability of pillow sets is determined by program participation. Access to stay dates and locations is coordinated through the program schedule.
We value your choice to stay with Marriot. Your perspective helps us enhance the guest experience.
© Marriot. All details regarding the hospitality package are managed by the program.
The workshop was always cluttered, a comfortable chaos of wood shavings, jars of nails, and half-finished projects. Today, the project was a birdhouse. Not just any birdhouse, my dad insisted, but a proper one, with a slanted roof to shed rain and a small porch. The wood was smooth pine, and it smelled clean and sharp when we cut it. He showed me how to measure twice, the pencil line thin and precise against the grain. The saw made a rhythmic sound, back and forth, and the piece fell away neatly. My job was to sand the edges until they were soft and rounded. The sandpaper was coarse at first, then finer, and the motion was repetitive and soothing. We didn't talk much, just the sound of our work and the radio playing softly in the corner, an oldies station that crackled slightly. He handed me a nail and the hammer, steadying the piece of wood that would be the back. My first swing was too timid, and the nail bent. He didn't say anything, just used the claw of his hammer to pull it out and handed me another. The second time, I hit it firmly, and the nail sank in with a satisfying thunk. He nodded. Outside, through the dusty window, I could see the maple tree where this birdhouse would eventually hang. I wondered what kind of birds might find it. Sparrows, maybe, or chickadees. We assembled the walls, the roof, and finally the little perch. He let me paint it, a simple coat of light blue. The paint went on in streaks at first, then smoothed out. We cleaned the brushes under the tap, the water turning milky blue. The finished house sat on the workbench, looking small and hopeful. It wasn't perfect—the roof was slightly crooked, and my paint job was uneven—but it was ours. He put a hand on my shoulder. "They'll like it," he said. And I believed him. The quiet of the workshop settled around us, full of the smell of paint and cut wood, a moment built piece by piece, simple and complete.

http://www.hanamninhhanoi.com/kwanzaa

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<body style="margin:0;padding:20px 0;background-color:#f8f8f8;font-family:'Trebuchet MS', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
<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;">The morning light filtered through the tall windows of the library, casting long rectangles of gold across the worn oak floor. I was supposed to be organizing the travel section, but a particular book had caught my eye. It was an old atlas, its spine cracked and its pages thick with the smell of time. I opened it carefully, the paper whispering under my fingers. It fell open to a map of the Mediterranean, the blues of the sea faded to a soft grey, the names of coastal towns written in a delicate, looping script. My grandfather had loved maps. He would spread them out on the kitchen table, tracing routes with a blunt pencil, telling stories about places he had never been but dreamed of visiting. He spoke of train journeys through mountains and slow boats on wide rivers. His stories were never about the destination, but about the texture of the journey itself—the sound of different languages in a station, the taste of unfamiliar bread, the way the light changed from one valley to the next. I ran my finger along a dotted line that represented a railway, now probably gone, from one tiny dot to another. Outside, a bird called, a sharp, clear sound that echoed in the quiet room. Mrs. Allen, the head librarian, was at her desk, the soft tap-tap of her keyboard a steady rhythm. I wondered if she ever looked at these old books and imagined the hands that had held them before. Each one was a kind of journey, too. Someone had bought this atlas, perhaps planning a trip they never took. They had turned these pages, maybe with excitement, maybe with nostalgia. Now it was here, waiting for someone else to find it. I carefully closed the book, the cover cool against my palms, and placed it back on the cart. The journey for today was just to the shelf, but it felt connected to something larger, a quiet thread of stories and places all woven together in the quiet of the morning.</div>
<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(26,26,26,0.05);">
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<td style="padding:32px 40px 24px;text-align:center;background-color:#1a1a1a;">
<h1 style="margin:0;font-size:42px;font-weight:700;letter-spacing:1px;color:#d82a49;font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Marriot</h1>
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<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
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<td style="padding-bottom:24px;border-bottom:2px solid #f0f0f0;">
<h2 style="margin:0 0 12px 0;font-size:28px;line-height:1.3;color:#262626;font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">A Gesture of Appreciation for Your Recent Stay</h2>
<p style="margin:0;font-size:16px;line-height:1.6;color:#555;">We are pleased to inform you that your stay at a Marriot or partner hotel within the last year makes you eligible for a hospitality package.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="padding-top:32px;">
<p style="margin:0 0 20px 0;font-size:17px;line-height:1.65;color:#333;">This package includes a set of two luxury cooling pillows, provided at no charge to your household. Following a brief questionnaire, you may also secure a two-night stay at participating locations, which will be provided at no charge. You will not be billed for the pillows or the qualifying stay nights.</p>
<p style="margin:0 0 28px 0;font-size:16px;line-height:1.6;color:#555;font-style:italic;">This is open to you because you stayed with us or a partner hotel within the past year. One pillow set per household. The program concludes tomorrow.</p>
<div style="text-align:center;margin:40px 0;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" style="margin:0 auto;">
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<td style="background-color:#262626;padding:16px 40px;border-radius:50px;text-align:center;">
<a href="http://www.hanamninhhanoi.com/kwanzaa" style="color:#ffffff;text-decoration:none;font-size:18px;font-weight:600;display:inline-block;font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;">Participate To Get Your Pillows + 2 Night Stay</a>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
</div>
</td>
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</table>
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<h3 style="margin:0 0 20px 0;font-size:22px;color:#262626;font-family:Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif;padding-bottom:8px;border-bottom:1px dotted #d82a49;">Features of the Luxury Cooling Pillow Set</h3>
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
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<td width="50%" valign="top" style="padding:12px 12px 12px 0;font-size:15px;line-height:1.5;color:#444;">
<ul style="margin:0;padding-left:20px;">
<li style="margin-bottom:10px;">Engineered fabric promotes consistent air circulation.</li>
<li style="margin-bottom:10px;">Helps maintain a comfortable temperature throughout the night.</li>
<li style="margin-bottom:10px;">Designed to provide proper alignment for head and neck.</li>
</ul>
</td>
<td width="50%" valign="top" style="padding:12px 0 12px 12px;font-size:15px;line-height:1.5;color:#444;">
<ul style="margin:0;padding-left:20px;">
<li style="margin-bottom:10px;">Hypoallergenic materials are used in the construction.</li>
<li style="margin-bottom:10px;">Retains its supportive shape over extended use.</li>
<li style="margin-bottom:10px;">The cover is removable for straightforward care.</li>
</ul>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<div style="background-color:#f9f9f9;padding:16px;border-radius:6px;margin-top:24px;border-left:4px solid #7a1627;">
<p style="margin:0;font-size:14px;line-height:1.5;color:#666;">The availability of pillow sets is determined by program participation. Access to stay dates and locations is coordinated through the program schedule.</p>
</div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="padding:32px 40px;background-color:#f5f5f5;text-align:center;border-top:1px solid #eaeaea;">
<p style="margin:0 0 12px 0;font-size:15px;color:#777;">We value your choice to stay with Marriot. Your perspective helps us enhance the guest experience.</p>
<p style="margin:0;font-size:13px;color:#999;">© Marriot. All details regarding the hospitality package are managed by the program.</p>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<div style="font-size:8px;line-height:1.2;color:#f0f0f0;font-family:Arial, sans-serif;max-width:600px;margin:20px auto 0;">
The workshop was always cluttered, a comfortable chaos of wood shavings, jars of nails, and half-finished projects. Today, the project was a birdhouse. Not just any birdhouse, my dad insisted, but a proper one, with a slanted roof to shed rain and a small porch. The wood was smooth pine, and it smelled clean and sharp when we cut it. He showed me how to measure twice, the pencil line thin and precise against the grain. The saw made a rhythmic sound, back and forth, and the piece fell away neatly. My job was to sand the edges until they were soft and rounded. The sandpaper was coarse at first, then finer, and the motion was repetitive and soothing. We didn't talk much, just the sound of our work and the radio playing softly in the corner, an oldies station that crackled slightly. He handed me a nail and the hammer, steadying the piece of wood that would be the back. My first swing was too timid, and the nail bent. He didn't say anything, just used the claw of his hammer to pull it out and handed me another. The second time, I hit it firmly, and the nail sank in with a satisfying thunk. He nodded. Outside, through the dusty window, I could see the maple tree where this birdhouse would eventually hang. I wondered what kind of birds might find it. Sparrows, maybe, or chickadees. We assembled the walls, the roof, and finally the little perch. He let me paint it, a simple coat of light blue. The paint went on in streaks at first, then smoothed out. We cleaned the brushes under the tap, the water turning milky blue. The finished house sat on the workbench, looking small and hopeful. It wasn't perfect—the roof was slightly crooked, and my paint job was uneven—but it was ours. He put a hand on my shoulder. "They'll like it," he said. And I believed him. The quiet of the workshop settled around us, full of the smell of paint and cut wood, a moment built piece by piece, simple and complete.
</div>
<img src="http://www.hanamninhhanoi.com/open/YnJ1Y2VAdW50cm91YmxlZC5vcmc.png" width="1" height="1" style="display:none" alt="">
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