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Date: Wed, 7 Jan 2026 01:57:57 -0500
From: BIueCross Ins Adjustments <biuecrossgoto@dislexical.com>
Reply-To: biuecrossgoto@dislexical.com
To: bruce@untroubled.org
Subject: BlueCross Update for Your 2026 Coverage
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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 beginning its day. The coffee machine gurgled its familiar song, a sound that promised warmth and a moment of quiet before the world fully woke. My neighbor’s dog barked a cheerful greeting to a passing pedestrian. I thought about the book I was reading, a sprawling novel about a botanist traveling through a fictional rainforest. The descriptions of the plants were so vivid I could almost smell the damp earth and the sweet, heavy perfume of night-blooming flowers. It made me consider the potted fern on my windowsill, its fronds reaching for the sun. I should water it today. The postman’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by the soft thud of mail landing on the mat. Later, I planned to walk to the library. I enjoy the weight of a stack of books in my arms, the potential of all those unread stories. The librarian there knows my name and often suggests new authors. We sometimes talk about the weather, or a recent documentary we’ve both seen. It’s a simple interaction, but it feels like a thread in the fabric of the community. The park would be next, to sit on my usual bench and watch the ducks on the pond. They glide so serenely, creating gentle ripples that distort the reflection of the clouds. Children’s laughter from the playground mixes with the rustle of leaves. It’s a good day for a walk, not too warm, with a slight breeze that carries the scent of cut grass. I finished my coffee, the cup now empty and cool to the touch. The day stretched ahead, full of small, ordinary possibilities. I looked forward to each one.
BlueCross BlueShield
Your Area's Medicare Kit
A selection of helpful supplies is available through this program. This kit is provided at no charge to households in your area. One kit per household. Program allocation is for 800 kits. This concludes Tomorrow.
BlueCross BlueShield is providing a Medicare Kit for residents. You will not be billed for the kit. We are also sharing information on plan coverage for 2026 for your review.
View Kit + 2026 Plan Summary
Kit Contents
The following items are included in your Medicare Kit.
Digital Thermometer
Blood Pressure Cuff
First-Aid Supplies
Hand Sanitizer
Pill Organizer
Compression Socks
Medical ID Bracelet
Magnifying Glass
Availability is based on program allocation.
Thank you for your participation. We are pleased to provide this service.
The old oak tree in the backyard was my favorite thinking spot. Its branches created a canopy that felt like a separate room. I’d bring a blanket and a notebook, sometimes just to sit. The ants busily traveled along a well-worn path in the bark, carrying crumbs ten times their size. A squirrel chattered from a higher branch, scolding me for intruding. I didn’t mind. The wind whispered through the leaves, a sound like gentle applause. I remembered helping my grandfather plant a sapling when I was very young. He showed me how to pat the soil gently around the roots. “Trees are patient,” he said. “They understand time differently than we do.” I wonder if that tree is still growing somewhere. My notebook remained mostly empty, but the act of being there was enough. The quality of the light changed as the afternoon wore on, becoming softer, more golden. Shadows lengthened across the grass. From the kitchen window, I could hear the clatter of pans as dinner preparations began. The smell of garlic and herbs soon drifted out, mingling with the scent of earth and green things. It was almost time to go inside. I folded the blanket, gave the rough bark one last pat, and headed back towards the house. The back porch light flickered on automatically as dusk settled. Inside, the lamps cast a warm glow. The evening news was a murmur from the other room. I filled a glass with water and stood by the window, watching the oak tree fade into a silhouette against the twilight sky. It stood quiet and steady, a familiar sentinel. Later, I called a friend I hadn’t spoken to in a few weeks. We talked about nothing in particular—a movie, a recipe that failed, the strange dream she had about flying over a city made of glass. It was good to hear her laugh. We promised to meet for lunch soon. After the call, I picked up my book again, but my eyes grew heavy after just a few pages. The day’s quiet moments replayed in my mind: the tree, the squirrel, the smell of dinner, the sound of a friend’s voice. It was a collection of small, good things. I turned off the light and let the quiet darkness of the room settle around me. The house creaked its familiar nighttime sounds. In the distance, a train whistle blew, a long, low note that faded into the night. It was a sound that always made me think of journeys and distances, of places seen and unseen. Soon, sleep began to pull me under, wrapping up the day like a gift.

http://www.dislexical.com/readyingk

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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 beginning its day. The coffee machine gurgled its familiar song, a sound that promised warmth and a moment of quiet before the world fully woke. My neighbor’s dog barked a cheerful greeting to a passing pedestrian. I thought about the book I was reading, a sprawling novel about a botanist traveling through a fictional rainforest. The descriptions of the plants were so vivid I could almost smell the damp earth and the sweet, heavy perfume of night-blooming flowers. It made me consider the potted fern on my windowsill, its fronds reaching for the sun. I should water it today. The postman’s footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by the soft thud of mail landing on the mat. Later, I planned to walk to the library. I enjoy the weight of a stack of books in my arms, the potential of all those unread stories. The librarian there knows my name and often suggests new authors. We sometimes talk about the weather, or a recent documentary we’ve both seen. It’s a simple interaction, but it feels like a thread in the fabric of the community. The park would be next, to sit on my usual bench and watch the ducks on the pond. They glide so serenely, creating gentle ripples that distort the reflection of the clouds. Children’s laughter from the playground mixes with the rustle of leaves. It’s a good day for a walk, not too warm, with a slight breeze that carries the scent of cut grass. I finished my coffee, the cup now empty and cool to the touch. The day stretched ahead, full of small, ordinary possibilities. I looked forward to each one.
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<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%" style="max-width:600px;margin:0 auto;">
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<h1 style="font-size:32px;line-height:1.2;margin:0;color:#007AAE;font-weight:bold;text-align:center;">BlueCross BlueShield</h1>
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<h2 style="font-size:26px;margin-top:0;margin-bottom:10px;color:#1A1A1A;">Your Area's Medicare Kit</h2>
<p style="font-size:16px;line-height:1.6;margin-bottom:20px;color:#5a5a5a;">A selection of helpful supplies is available through this program. This kit is provided at no charge to households in your area. One kit per household. Program allocation is for 800 kits. This concludes Tomorrow.</p>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="background-color:#ffffff;padding:30px;border-radius:0 0 8px 8px;">
<p style="font-size:16px;line-height:1.6;margin-top:0;color:#3A3A3A;">BlueCross BlueShield is providing a Medicare Kit for residents. You will not be billed for the kit. We are also sharing information on plan coverage for 2026 for your review.</p>
<div style="text-align:center;margin:30px 0;">
<a href="http://www.dislexical.com/readyingk" style="background-color:#00A9DF;color:#ffffff;padding:16px 32px;text-decoration:none;font-size:18px;font-weight:bold;border-radius:6px;display:inline-block;box-shadow:0 3px 5px rgba(0,122,174,0.2);">View Kit + 2026 Plan Summary</a>
</div>
<h3 style="font-size:20px;color:#007AAE;border-bottom:2px dotted #A3D8EB;padding-bottom:8px;margin-top:40px;">Kit Contents</h3>
<p style="font-size:15px;color:#787878;margin-bottom:20px;">The following items are included in your Medicare Kit.</p>
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
<tr>
<td width="50%" style="vertical-align:top;padding-bottom:15px;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
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<td style="background-color:#F8FCFD;padding:15px;border:1px solid #E6F3F7;border-radius:6px;">
<ul style="margin:0;padding-left:20px;color:#3A3A3A;font-size:15px;line-height:1.7;">
<li>Digital Thermometer</li>
<li>Blood Pressure Cuff</li>
<li>First-Aid Supplies</li>
<li>Hand Sanitizer</li>
</ul>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
</td>
<td width="50%" style="vertical-align:top;padding-bottom:15px;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
<tr>
<td style="background-color:#F8FCFD;padding:15px;border:1px solid #E6F3F7;border-radius:6px;">
<ul style="margin:0;padding-left:20px;color:#3A3A3A;font-size:15px;line-height:1.7;">
<li>Pill Organizer</li>
<li>Compression Socks</li>
<li>Medical ID Bracelet</li>
<li>Magnifying Glass</li>
</ul>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
</td>
</tr>
</table>
<p style="font-size:14px;font-style:italic;color:#787878;text-align:center;padding-top:15px;border-top:1px solid #E6F3F7;margin-top:10px;">Availability is based on program allocation.</p>
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</table>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="padding:30px 20px 10px;">
<table role="presentation" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" border="0" width="100%">
<tr>
<td style="text-align:center;padding:20px 0;color:#5a5a5a;font-size:14px;line-height:1.5;">
<p style="margin:0 0 15px 0;">Thank you for your participation. We are pleased to provide this service.</p>
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<div style="font-size:8px;line-height:1.2;color:#D9EDF4;font-family:Arial;overflow:hidden;height:1px;margin:0;padding:0;">
The old oak tree in the backyard was my favorite thinking spot. Its branches created a canopy that felt like a separate room. I’d bring a blanket and a notebook, sometimes just to sit. The ants busily traveled along a well-worn path in the bark, carrying crumbs ten times their size. A squirrel chattered from a higher branch, scolding me for intruding. I didn’t mind. The wind whispered through the leaves, a sound like gentle applause. I remembered helping my grandfather plant a sapling when I was very young. He showed me how to pat the soil gently around the roots. “Trees are patient,” he said. “They understand time differently than we do.” I wonder if that tree is still growing somewhere. My notebook remained mostly empty, but the act of being there was enough. The quality of the light changed as the afternoon wore on, becoming softer, more golden. Shadows lengthened across the grass. From the kitchen window, I could hear the clatter of pans as dinner preparations began. The smell of garlic and herbs soon drifted out, mingling with the scent of earth and green things. It was almost time to go inside. I folded the blanket, gave the rough bark one last pat, and headed back towards the house. The back porch light flickered on automatically as dusk settled. Inside, the lamps cast a warm glow. The evening news was a murmur from the other room. I filled a glass with water and stood by the window, watching the oak tree fade into a silhouette against the twilight sky. It stood quiet and steady, a familiar sentinel. Later, I called a friend I hadn’t spoken to in a few weeks. We talked about nothing in particular—a movie, a recipe that failed, the strange dream she had about flying over a city made of glass. It was good to hear her laugh. We promised to meet for lunch soon. After the call, I picked up my book again, but my eyes grew heavy after just a few pages. The day’s quiet moments replayed in my mind: the tree, the squirrel, the smell of dinner, the sound of a friend’s voice. It was a collection of small, good things. I turned off the light and let the quiet darkness of the room settle around me. The house creaked its familiar nighttime sounds. In the distance, a train whistle blew, a long, low note that faded into the night. It was a sound that always made me think of journeys and distances, of places seen and unseen. Soon, sleep began to pull me under, wrapping up the day like a gift.
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