Deconstructing Fairy Tales: My Summer Study

Somewhere along the way, somebody sold us a lie about fairy tales.

We were fed stories about pretty young girls waiting to be rescued. A love that fixes everything and a magical, a life changing kiss delivered by a prince. The version we got was softer. All of the real conflict and sharp edges were filed off. A lot of us carried it into adulthood without ever thinking to check the original.

I’m going to the source this summer. I'm spending my slow months down in it, taking these stories apart to see what they're actually made of. I'm calling it Deconstructing Fairy Tales.

The things I’m discovering already are fascinating.

The woman we were taught not to become

When you go back to the oldest retellings, the girl is still there, but she’s never the one with the power. The power belongs to someone else. The crone. The godmother. The witch out in the wood who knows things the village doesn't. The old woman who’s been through it all but her warnings and lived experience are painted as at best, or the rantings of a mad woman, at worst.

She's everywhere in the original stories, and she's been quietly written down and out of the ones we inherited. She got older. She got stranger. Then she got turned into a warning. Don't end up like her — alone, odd, out past the edge of town.

But I've started reading her differently. She lives on her own terms. She's a little feared and feral, which means she's mostly left alone. She has knowledge nobody could take from her, clearly defined boundaries, and a great cottage in the woods — the OG she-shed. Somewhere along the line we were taught to dread becoming her. I've decided the opposite. I'd like to walk straight toward her.

Why now at 52?

I don't think this study would have landed on me at thirty. It found me now for a reason.

The stories I write are about women in the back half of their lives — women who are not finished, not invisible, not done with any of the good parts. And the more time I spend in the old fairy tales, the more I realize they got there centuries before I did. The wise woman, the second-act heroine, the one whose best chapter comes late is not a modern invention. She's been there the entire time but somewhere along the line it was decided that her story wasn’t worthy of telling.

How I'm actually doing this?

I made it a system, because it’s what I do. If there’s a reason to use a new planner, I’m gonna do it. Each tale gets a few layers.

First, the tale itself — the oldest, strangest version I can find, before anyone made it safe. Then the lore: the history and the scholarship, which is its own quiet thrill. I'm reading Maria Tatar and Marina Warner for the deep background, Angela Carter's The Bloody Chamber for retellings, and Clarissa Pinkola Estés's Women Who Run with the Wolves for the part that reads like it was written directly to me. Then the thread, where I pull the story back toward my own writing and my own life and see what it has to say.

To make it more submersive, I'm building a soundtrack for each tale — a playlist that sounds like the particular wood I'm walking into that week. Something haunted for the dark ones. Something warmer for the ones that end in light. It turns out the fastest way into an old story isn't through your eyes at all; it's through your ears. I put the playlist on, and I'm transported to the wood, in the cottage, at the edge of the dark. I didn't expect it to change the work as much as it has.

Then the making, a short creative response whether it be a short essay, a few pages of journaling, or an art project.

And one last layer, which is the most personal, a tarot reading and practice. I’m the Witch's Wisdom deck I already own, which could not be more suited to a summer about witches and woods. This layer serves a mirror. Every tale has a woman at its center, and pulling a card is my way of sitting down across the kitchen table from her and askingn her, what do you have to teach me?

Where I'm starting, and where it ends

Six tales, across the whole slow summer(or what’s left of it).

I'm starting in the wood, with Hansel and Gretel, and what it actually means to leave the path — a thing I've done more than once in my life, usually against advice, usually for the better.

So, that’s how I’m spending my summer in an effort to challenge myself to learn something new and stop doomscrolling. I’m going down into the oldest versions of the stories we were all raised on. I will probably never look at an evil stepmother or fairy godmother the same way again.

If you’d rather watch and follow along the journey, feel free to head over to my Youtube channel

New here? I'm Courtnee — I write about slow, intentional living, the creative life, and midlife on my own terms. If you'd rather watch than read, the whole study is unfolding over on YouTube, one tale at a time.

The Politics of Fashion and Why I Choose Joy

Every time I get dressed, I stand in front of my closet, my hand hovering over brightly colored cardigans, thrifted blouses and dresses that I've been excited to wear. And then I hesitate.

Is this ridiculous? Is this tone-deaf? Should I be reaching for something more subdued, more appropriate instead?

I pull out something colorful anyway. I pair it with something fun. It might be a patterened skirt, a lapel full of vintage brooches, or hot pink tights. And when I look in the mirror, I feel something I haven't felt much of lately, I feel like myself.

And here’s what’s been bouncing around my brain:

Joy isn’t frivilous. It’s defiant!

There's an idea that during serious times, we should match the gravity of the moment with our appearance, our homes, our entire aesthetic lives. Looking at you Pantone and that “color” of the year. That choosing color, beauty, or whimsy is somehow disrespectful to what is going on around us. That we should mute ourselves. Make ourselves somber and appropriate.

But I refuse to internalize oppression. I’m not bending the knee and embracing what they’re trying to normalize.

Authoritarian movements have always understood the power of beauty and self-expression. That's why they target it first. They ban books and art. They mandate dress codes. They criminalize gender expression and cultural identity. They paint gray over murals and declare that color itself is suspicious, frivolous, dangerous.

The maximalist, colorful aesthetic that I've spent years cultivating isn't an escape from politics. It's a refusal to comply with the obliteration of culture that precedes every authoritarian playbook.

When I choose to wear a vintage floral dress on a random Tuesday, I'm not being oblivious. I'm being visible. And visibility, right now, is a form of resistance.

We like to pretend that what we wear is purely personal, but fashion has never been apolitical. (Every thing in life is political but that’s a conversation for another day).

The suffragettes wore white dresses to demonstrate their purity of purpose and to be visible in marches and in photographs.

Flappers bobbed their hair and dared to show their knees in public in response to increasingly puritanical sensabilities of the 1920s.

Rosie the Riveter's red lipstick wasn't vanity. It was an assertion that women could be both strong and feminine. That they could claim industrial spaces while refusing to surrender their identity.

Women were mandated to wear skirts and dresses in the workplace even into the 1980s.

During the AIDS crisis in the 80s, ACT UP activists used fashion—bright colors, bold slogans, leather and pink triangles—to demand visibility for a community that the government wanted to let die quietly.

What we wear communicates who we are, what we value, and what world we believe is possible.

There's a difference, of course, between mindless consumption and intentional self-presentation. I'm not talking about buying into every trend that crosses your algorithm or filling a cart with fast fashion every other week from corporations that fund the very systems crushing us.

I'm talking about the deliberate choice to show up in the world as your full self. To dress in a way that says: Fuck you. I’m here. I refuse to disappear.

My aesthetic isn't always about following trends or performing femininity for the male gaze. It represents something deeper: women claiming space, making beauty on our own terms, refusing to shrink or dim or apologize for existing in color.

This week, I've worn a bright orange striped skirt. Polka dots paired with a snarky graphic t-shirt. I've paired a hot pink vintage sweater with a floral midi skirt. I have an armful of stacked bracelets and giant hoop earrings.

I've gotten dressed on days when I'm not leaving the house, because the act of choosing myself—choosing color, choosing beauty, choosing to show up—feels like the only form of control I have right now.

I'm not performing for anyone. I’m resisting the idea that I should become a ghost in my own life.

The colors and patterns I wear feel like armor. They feel like a Fuck You to every voice—internal or external—that suggests women of a certain age should be less visible. They feel like a refusal of the beige minimalism that Instagram tries to sell us as “sophistication” and “quiet luxury” but that actually just makes us easier to ignore.

When I wear something bright or pair plaid and polka dots, I'm not escaping reality. I'm moving through my life with intention. I'm saying that even in especially in the hardest moments, I deserve to feel like myself.

I’m not here to tell you to dress like me. I'm certainly not saying that minimalism or neutral palettes are wrong. You don’t need to perform joy if you’re not feeling it.

However, I think we should reject the pressure to shrink. We don’t need to make ourselves smaller as a gesture of seriousness or an act of solidarity.

The quiet voice telling you to tone it down, that you’re too much, you’re doing too much—fuck that voice.

Choosing joy in your daily life, including in what you wear, isn't frivolous or tone-deaf. It's an act of resistance. It's a declaration that they don't get to take this from you too.

So I'll keep wearing color. I'll keep thrifting vintage pieces that make me smile. I'll keep showing up as myself.

And I hope you'll join me in a way that feels right for you.

The revolustion will be televised…so what will you be wearing?

On publishing, mistakes, and imposter syndrome

There is a particular kind of quiet I didn’t anticipate that happens after you click publish.

Not peaceful quiet. Not triumphant quiet. It’s the one where you hold your breath and try to steady your hands waiting to find out what happens next.

I published Merritt Ever After Book One of the Hudson Harbor Series and then I sat quietly on my couch with a cup of coffee for what felt like forever. I'm still trying to process all of it.

I want to tell you what it actually took to get here. I had a vision. I’m a planner so there was a solid plan. A “what could go wrong” kind of plan. And because I’m a planner, a “plan B” backup plan. I could tell you that everything went well. That would be a lie.

So let’s talk about the real version, with the formatting disasters and the lost pages and the very unsexy process of self-publishing a novel while also being a person with a life and a family, piles of laundry, and a refrigerator that needs to be cleaned and a persistent low-grade voice in the back of her head asking, but who do you think you are?

Let me paint you a picture.

It is late in the evening. I have a document I have looked at so many times the words have stopped being words. I am attempting to upload this document to Kindle Direct Publishing. I am learning, in real time, about trim size and bleed and mirror margins.

I did not know this going in. Or rather, I knew it abstractly and had not implemented it correctly. The KDP preview showed me pages that looked like my manuscript had been in some kind of accident, and I had to go back into my document and fix it. And then upload it again. And then check the preview again. And then find one more thing that was off.

There is a version of self-publishing discourse that makes this process sound seamless. And I think for some people, with some books, it is. This was not my experience. My experience was exhausting and humbling and involved more YouTube tutorials than I expected, and at the end of it I pressed publish with the full knowledge that I was making a leap of faith — that the proof on my screen and the physical book that would arrive on someone's doorstep were close, but not identical, and I had to trust the process.

I pressed publish anyway.

Now let’s chat about how this whole thing almost didn’t happen.

I wrote the outline and every draft of this book in Google Docs. It’s easy. It’s what I’m used to, and honestly I hate change. The final draft was written in a trusty Google Doc, you know the one that automatically saves your draft every few minutes. Quick aside, writing a book and formatting a book for publishing are two very different skill sets. And I quickly discovered that formatting a book in Google Docs was going to be a headache. Every reddit thread I visited, every indie author group I followed suggested that if you weren’t outsourcing the formatting, and if you didn’t have (the pricy) software made specifically for ios (and I didn’t own any Apple products until last year), the easiest thing to was to format it in a word document.

How hard could that be? Famous last words.

Because I wasn’t used to wirting in word, it never occured to me that my edits weren’t being saved. I think you can see where this is going. Sometime between finishing the book and uploading it to KDP, I closed the manuscript. And just like that, weeks of work and twenty chapters of edits vanished!

I’m not going to go into detail about the ensuing meltdown, the frantic calls to anyone I thought could help, or the cuss words and tears because once the big and not completely unwarranted crashout was over, I had to sit with my feelings. I had to think about what I was going to do. And, like I do with everything, I internalized it.

The voice in my head that frames every struggle in my life as something I’ve created or deserved went into overdrive. This wasn’t a technology snafu or a simple mistake. Nope that voice was calling me names.

“Stupid”.

“Idiot”.

“Dumbass”.

Then the voice got louder, “Who the fuck do you think you are?” Maybe that voice was right. Maybe this was the universe trying to stop me from embarrassing myself.

I’m being vulnerable about that voice because I think a lot of us have it and we don't always call it out.

I rewrote the scenes. The second version was, if I'm being fair to myself, probably better. But I didn't know that when I was sitting there staring at the page, trying to reconstruct dialogue from memory. I just knew I had to keep going.

Psssst- If you're working on something right now: back up your files. Set up auto-sync. It takes ten minutes and it will save you from grief that your imposter syndrome will absolutely try to weaponize. Learn from my very specific and avoidable mistake.

I kept the costs for this book as low as I possibly could. I want to say that plainly, without hedging or embarrassment, because I think the self-publishing space can sometimes imply that there is a "real" way to do this and it involves a full professional team and a significant budget, and anything else is a lesser version.

I disagree.

I learned things I didn't know. I spent time where other people spend money — hours on formatting, on research, on iteration. I was selective about where I actually needed to spend, and I was scrappy everywhere else. And the book that came out of that process is real. It has an ISBN. It has a spine. It exists in the world in a way that no amount of self-doubt can undo.

Being resourceful is not the same as being less serious about your work. Doing it yourself, because that's what you have, is not a consolation prize.

And here’s the thing I have been building toward.

There is still a voice in the back of my head. It’s not as loud or dramatic as the one from the “have you saved your work” debacle, which is how we now refer to it in our house. It’s more like a refrigerator hum — constant, background, easy to stop consciously noticing until the room gets quiet.

It asks things like

Is this good enough?

Are you good enough?

Do you actually belong in the category of "author," or is that a word for other people?

It asks them most in the in-between moments — when I'm working on the second book, when someone tells me they're proud of me and I feel the warmth of that and simultaneously wonder if I've done enough to deserve it.

I published this book and the hum did not stop. I think there's a story we tell ourselves that once I do the thing, I’ll feel like I’ve arrived. It’s more complicated than that.

I worry about disappointing the people who are rooting for me. Friends who bought the book. Family members who have told other people about it with a pride in their voice that makes me tear up. I worry that book won't live up to their expectations. I worry that if by some miracle they don’t think I’ve wasted trees to publish the worst book ever and they actually enjoyed it, that book two will be the one the hate, and book three will will reveal that I’m a fraud.

I don't have a resolution for this.

What I have instead is my word of the year is Audacity.

And when I sat with what that word actually means to me, I kept coming back to the fact that it is not the absence of doubt. It's not confidence you were born with or borrowed or faked until it arrived. Audacity is the decision to do the big scary thing even while the voice is trying to talk you out of it.

So, I wrote a book.

I figured out the margins and formatting.

I rewrote the lost pages.

I met my deadline.

I pressed publish.

The hum is still there.

But, I'm writing book two anyway.

If you have a story you have been carrying around, a screenplay you’re writing, a business to launch, a creative project you’re starting and you’re wondering if it's good enough, wondering if you're good enough, I see you. I really do.

Keep going. Let the doubt come with you, because it's coming either way.

And then do it.

I'll be right here, figuring it out alongside you. 🐝

You can me chatting about here.

Merritt Ever After (Hudson Harbor, Book 1) is available now on Amazon in ebook and paperback and KU.

Audacity as My Word of the Year | A Midlife Guide to Taking Up Space

I don’t choose my word of the year lightly.

I sit with it. Trying it on like sweaters in a dressing room. Cultivate. Intentional. Grace. Some look good but the fit isn’t right or it’s too itchy when I move. Others- Strength. Connect. Expansion - are discarded immediately.

This year, one word refused to be ignored.

Audacity.

Not the loud, chest-thumping kind. Not arrogance. Not recklessness.
But the deep, steady nerve to take up space. To want what I want. To move as if my life actually belongs to me.

With the current state of the world we’re living in, audacity feels like both rebellion and survival.

Audacity showed up slowly.

It crept in through frustration. Through anger. Through that bone-deep exhaustion that comes from watching deeply unqualified, unethical people fail upward loudly and without consequence, while the rest of us are taught to be grateful for scraps and silence.

At some point I thought:
If they can move through the world with that much unearned confidence… surely I can take one small step toward the life I actually want.

That was it. It clicked.

Audacity isn’t about becoming someone new.
It’s about stopping the constant negative internal dialogue.

Audacity gets a bad rap, especially for women, especially for Black women.

We’re taught:

• Don’t be too much

• Don’t ask for too much

• Don’t expect too much

• Don’t want too loudly

So let me be clear about how I’m defining it this year.

Audacity is:

• Saying yes without apologizing

• Remembering no is a complete sentence

• Creating before permission is granted

• Believing my work has value before it’s validated

• Acting as if my time is precious, because it is

Audacity is trusting myself.

It’s not about bullying others.
It’s about refusing to bully myself.

I’m at a point in my life where shrinking feels riskier than trying.

I want to publish books.
I’m building a creative life.
I’m allowing myself to want more without shame.

Audacity gives me something solid to return to when doubt creeps in.

When I hear:

• Who do you think you are?

• Is this too late?

• What if it doesn’t work?

  Audacity answers:

• You are exactly who you think you are.

• It’s never too late.

• It’s okay to want to try.

Sometimes audacity looks like bold action.
Sometimes it looks like rest.
Sometimes it looks like not explaining myself to people who have already decided to misunderstand me.

I keep reminding myself:

Audacity doesn’t mean fear disappears.
It means fear doesn’t get the final say.

I don’t need to be fearless.
I just need to be willing.

Willing to be seen.
Willing to be imperfect.
Willing to disappoint people who benefit from my silence.
Willing to build a life that finally feels like mine.

There is so much uncertainty and chaos this year. I have no idea how it’s going to turn out.
But, I know I’m done waiting for permission that I never actually needed.

Audacity is my reminder that I am allowed to choose myself, not once, not dramatically, but again and again in small, ordinary, powerful ways.

And if that makes me “too much”?

Good.
I’ve spent enough of my life being not enough on purpose.

Here’s to audacity.
Quiet. Steady. Unapologetic.

December Planner Reset: Making My Personal Rings Work Even When I’m Struggling

December is the month that shows up every year like an over-caffeinated overachiever with the audacity to ask, “So… are you ready?”

No, babe. I am not.
But that’s exactly why I love doing a December planner reset—especially in my personal size ring planner, which is basically the ride-or-die that sticks with me through every season of chaos, reinvention, and “why am I like this?”

This month I need my planner to provide a bit of “soft structure” to help me juggle my personal life, creative goals, content planning, holiday prep, my emotional and mental health, and the 2000 tabs open in my brain all. the. time. IFYKYK.

So if you’re feeling overwhelmed, behind, scattered, or like December just needs to calm down… welcome, friend. Let’s reset together.

Why I Need a Reset (and Maybe You Do Too)

The holidays are beautiful, but they’re also a lot. And this year? My brain is running both too fast and too slow. Executive dysfunction is very much in the chat.

So my December setup needed to be:

• simple enough to use on my most exhausted days,

• structured enough to support my goals,

• and pretty enough to spark joy (because yes, I am a maximalist and stationery does motivate me).

If you’re also struggling to get your head above water, no worries my friend. You’re human. Let’s build systems that help us.

My December Planner Setup (Inside the Personal Rings)

✨ 1. The Monthly Dashboard

My December dashboard is my grounding page.
I keep it simple:

• one focus for the month,

• one intention,

• and a tiny list of “non-negotiable” tasks that I know I can actually complete.

No aspirational nonsense. Just what’s real.

📝 2. The Monthly Insert

Personal rings can get cramped, so I stuck with:

• a clean monthly calendar,

• space for appointments,

• and a holiday timeline so Christmas doesn’t sneak up on me like it does every single year.

🎁 3. Holiday Planning

This includes a small:

• gift list,

• budget tracker,

• events & hosting notes

🧠 4. ADHD-Friendly Systems

Because my brain refuses to cooperate in December, I kept things extremely functional:

• Weekly overview to stop me from overcommitting.

• A “When Your Brain is Tired” list of simple wins.

• A Notes section because I will forget everything if I don’t write it down.

🎨 5. A Few Pretty Touches

I added some holiday touches because a little whimsy goes a long way in keeping me engaged.

My planner needs to feel like a space I want to come back to not just a continually growing list of tasks and obligations.

What I’m Letting Go Of This Month

• The idea that I need to be perfectly organized.

• The myth that December needs a fresh start when sometimes survival is enough.

• Comparing my planner (or my life) to anyone else’s.

My system doesn’t have to look like yours. And your system doesn’t need to look like mine.
It just has to work.

What I’m Focusing On Instead

✨ small steps
✨ gentle routines
✨ soft structure
✨ daily joy
✨ space to breathe
✨ a soft landing place for my thoughts

If all I do this month is keep my personal rings open and write down what actually matters, that’s a win.

If You’re Struggling Too…

Come sit next to me (with your coffee or your tea).
Let’s make planning a refuge instead of a performance.

Your planner can hold space for chaos, creativity, grief, joy, overwhelm, and ambition — all at the same time.
That’s the beauty of it.

And if all you do today is flip open your planner and take one breath?
That counts.

Let's Get Loud

I walked into my 50s with a mandate. I’m not here to blend in.

In this moment, I’m here to live boldly.  I’m determined to walk down the street like I own it.

This dress is a lot. It’s loud, playful, and a little wild. And I don’t care.  Being an adult is realizing that Mrs. Roper was an OG baddie who fully embraced her divine femininity and gave not a single damn what other people thought of her. She deserved better than Mr. Roper but that’s another conversation for another day.

Is there an age when I’ll start to tone it all down?
Neutrals. Classics. Something more… expected.
Maybe. But, that day isn’t today. Right now I’m not here to tone it down. I’m determined to turn it all the way up.

This dress, with its leopard print and blocks of vibrant pink and orange, doesn’t whisper. It roars.
And not in a way that demands attention.
It simply refuses to apologize for its presence.

Just like I’m learning to do.

This season isn’t about dimming your light; it’s about living and embracing joy. Being unapologetic in being who you are and redefining the expectations of what middleage is supposed to be. Because midlife isn’t about fading into the background.

🛍️ Style Breakdown:

• Dress: Leopard + color-block maxi (Shein)

• Shoes: Wedges (Amazon)

• Accessories: Oversized sunnies, gold bangles

With Love and Whimsy,

Courtnee 🩷

Pause

Yellow is my favorite color. I used to think that nothing bad could happen in a yellow house. And while I’m no longer naïve enough to believe that one day I hope we’ll have a little yellow cottage on the lake to spend time with the kids and grandkids.

This yellow house seemed the perfect place to sit and savor a quiet moment in the sun.

This photo wasn’t staged. Not exactly. Did I get dressed up to go downtown and take pictures? Yes. But this stolen moment in my favorite new pink dress was pure serendipity.

August is a struggle for me. It’s my birthday month and I have complicated feelings about it. Every year I struggle with not being enough and the anxiety that I’m running out of time to figure it out.

Sometimes I’m so busy crossing things off my to-do list and worrying about the future that I hardly ever slow down, get out of my head, and appreciate the now.  

Here I am sitting. The stillness invited me to take a deep breath and remember that I’m allowed simply to be. I’m not aiming for perfection; I’m striving for wholeness.

🛍️ Outfit Notes:

• Dress: Shein

• Shoes: Banana Republic (thrifted)

• Bag: Amazon

Same look. Different Font. || Style Remix

You know what they say — leopard is a neutral. And like any good neutral, it can take on a whole new personality depending on how you style it.

Now if we consider outfits like fonts, you might be saying the same thing but the way you say it- bold or classic, playful or polished- totally changes the vibe. These are two of my favorite looks.

As I did my laundry one day and put away each piece, I realized they were essentially the same outfits built around leopard print bottoms. Same base, different energy.

Look 1: Classic with a Sporty Edge

If I had to give this look a font, it’d be something bold but easygoing — maybe Futura Bold.

• Leopard print wide-leg pants with side stripes = casual cool.

• A crisp white tank keeps it classic but relaxed.

• Flats with some sparkle give it an unexpected classic “ladies who lunch” touch.

• A lightweight (for those downright Arctic summer air-conditioned spaces) jacket looks sporty, but the ruffles at the zipper give it a whimsical detail.

  The vibe: effortless, city chic — the kind of outfit that says "I woke up like this" but still makes people do a double take.

Look 2: Playful + Feminine with a Retro Twist

If this outfit were a font, I’d call it Cooper Black — playful, vintage-inspired, and full of personality.

• A leopard midi skirt sets the stage, but the red graphic tee takes it somewhere fun and unexpected.

• The platform twist on the classic high-top Chucks keeps it comfortable and cute.

• A black bag and oversized sunglasses finish the look with a nod to old-school glam.

The vibe: playful, confident, and a little retro

Same Base, New Energy

This is the magic of style: the same leopard print can channel sporty glam or playful everyday casual depending on what you pair with it.

✨ White tank vs. red graphic tee
✨ Sophisticated flats vs. sneakers with a retro vibe
✨ Layered pearls vs. chunky gold jewelry

Your clothes are just the canvas — your personal style is the font you use to tell your story.

Style It Your Way:

Want to try this yourself? Start with:
✔️ A leopard print pant or skirt
✔️ One pop of color (red, pink, cobalt blue — whatever feels like you)
✔️ Your favorite “font”: classic pieces (button-down, gold hoops) or playful extras (graphic tee, sneakers, pearls)

💬 What’s Your Font?

Are you more Futura Bold or Cooper Black? Sportyglam or playful casual?
Tag me on Instagram @courtneerae_ and show me how you style your leopard print!

With joy and whimsy—xoxo, Courtnee.