COSTCO
WAREHOUSE
Dear Respected Member,
A Message for Costco Members
We're asking you to share reflections about your last visits. Your feedback helps us improve what matters most to you, and we'll provide a token of appreciation for participating.
Here's what you'll get as part of this engagement:
• Complimentary Yearly Membership — accessible for new signups or as an advancement for existing members.
• Ninja CREAMi Frozen Dessert Maker — available to initial participants while program stock lasts.
This time-limited opportunity backs our ongoing work to better the member experience across our stores and online platform.
To engage, complete a brief member questionnaire. It takes just a couple of minutes, and your feedback informs enhancements in value, choices, and service.
We appreciate your involvement in our community. We anticipate serving you in your upcoming visit and beyond.
Warm regards,
The Costco Member Services Team
2025 Costco Wholesale.
I often stop to gaze at the sky and its subtle changes. Today the hue shifts toward a gentle gray, akin to a softly worn blanket draped lightly over the afternoon. It isn't a dreary gray; it feels contemplative, the kind that invites a slower breath and an easy pace. Against it, the leaves outside seem brighter, small flags of green outlining each branch as they sway with a quiet rhythm. When the air stirs, they respond with a patient dance that stays just long enough to catch your eye. Observing that calm motion is a reminder to pause before the next moment unfolds, to let the scene rest and expand at its own pace.
The house carries its own melody if you listen closely. There's a low, steady hum from another room, perhaps a machine minding its task, and a small click that follows now and then, like a gentle knock in the background. I can hear my breathing when everything else calms, a quiet beat that maintains its rhythm without seeking attention. That steady cadence feels like a quiet drum somewhere nearby, guiding the minutes forward. It's easy to overlook these notes during busy hours, yet when they surface, they make the space feel peaceful, cared for, and familiar in the best way.
I recall the coolness of grass beneath bare feet from a warmer time. The blades bend and spring back, damp with a whisper of morning, greeting in the earth's own language. It's a simple salutation, the kind that asks for nothing and gives everything in return. You look up and the clouds are sharing their own brief stories: one shaped like a sleepy pup meandering along, another like a small, cozy boat gliding over an unseen sea. Before long they turn into something else, and then something else again, reminding you that change is always near and rarely abrupt when you look closely.
A warm cup held with both hands does a quiet kind of work. The warmth seeps into your fingers and settles there, bringing a calm that doesn't rush. If you tilt the cup toward the light, tiny flecks drift and glimmer as if the water is keeping time with you. It isn't elaborate and doesn't need to be; the warmth is enough. On slow afternoons it feels like a companion at the table, a small pause that opens the door to another deep breath and a softer thought before you return to the rest of the day.
I consider how every person you pass carries a world you cannot see. There are memories tucked inside their days, and plans that stretch beyond the horizon of your own. Each one walks by with their layered stories, some vibrant, some quiet, all important to someone. These separate worlds drift close and then apart again, brushing shoulders, trading nods, and moving on. Remembering that can make a crowded place feel spacious, as if the city itself is breathing with a patient, shared rhythm that holds room for everyone.
Often the best parts of a day appear in the spaces between larger moments. The last sigh after a long list is completed. The gentle scrape of a page turning and settling. The way the afternoon light stretches into a narrow path across the floor, then lengthens and fades as evening approaches. These are quiet markers that ask for nothing more than your attention. When you meet them with awareness, they return the favor by making the mundane feel generous, reminding you that being present is a rich experience all on its own.
