HOME | Katie Calautti | Writer

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Writer, Editor, Enthusiast

We have the absolute best customers at @frenchtown_bookshop, one of whom is the wonderfully smart and talented @stan.kornak.art. The first time we were introduced, we seamlessly launched into a conversation about Caravaggio’s aesthetics and themes in the new Ripley series, and it was clear I’d met a kindred spirit. When Stan walks in the door, I know I’m about to be taken to art church—a service wherein we mutually evangelize our favorites (don’t even get us started on the Spanish masters) and he imparts some new and fascinating fact that not even my most enthusiastic college professors touched upon.

Stan is also a self-taught artist, and his work is humbly perceptive—just like him. His ability to capture the expressions of his subjects is nothing short of sorcery—he tells me it’s “all in the eyes and lips” but I think, like the very best artists and creatives, Stan is someone who sees deeply, considers thoughtfully, and empathetically reflects his impressions back to us. Last week he stopped by with this portrait he made of me, and I was floored. The experience of being drawn is both flattering and uncanny—I can tell you exactly what I’m thinking in this rendering, and it’s incredibly moving to hold the intangible made so beautifully tactile. Thank you, Stan, for giving me this priceless keepsake and for sharing your gifts with the world!

We have the absolute best customers at @frenchtown_bookshop, one of whom is the wonderfully smart and talented @stan.kornak.art. The first time we were introduced, we seamlessly launched into a conversation about Caravaggio’s aesthetics and themes in the new Ripley series, and it was clear I’d met a kindred spirit. When Stan walks in the door, I know I’m about to be taken to art church—a service wherein we mutually evangelize our favorites (don’t even get us started on the Spanish masters) and he imparts some new and fascinating fact that not even my most enthusiastic college professors touched upon.

Stan is also a self-taught artist, and his work is humbly perceptive—just like him. His ability to capture the expressions of his subjects is nothing short of sorcery—he tells me it’s “all in the eyes and lips” but I think, like the very best artists and creatives, Stan is someone who sees deeply, considers thoughtfully, and empathetically reflects his impressions back to us. Last week he stopped by with this portrait he made of me, and I was floored. The experience of being drawn is both flattering and uncanny—I can tell you exactly what I’m thinking in this rendering, and it’s incredibly moving to hold the intangible made so beautifully tactile. Thank you, Stan, for giving me this priceless keepsake and for sharing your gifts with the world!

She’s heeeeeeere! Happy flowers-in-every-room season, y’all!

She’s heeeeeeere! Happy flowers-in-every-room season, y’all!

Post-rain foggy dusk, or: a snapshot of my skull’s insides.

Post-rain foggy dusk, or: a snapshot of my skull’s insides.

I could set a clock to spring’s whites and purples. On the wind, the earthy-sweet perfume of forthcoming yellows and greens. The peepers are serenading tonight; yesterday I was buzz-clipped by a pollen-drunk bee. She is arisen (me, I am she).

I could set a clock to spring’s whites and purples. On the wind, the earthy-sweet perfume of forthcoming yellows and greens. The peepers are serenading tonight; yesterday I was buzz-clipped by a pollen-drunk bee. She is arisen (me, I am she).

I’m focusing my attention very narrowly these days, and right now it’s firmly aimed at the spot by the stone wall where the season’s first snowdrops spring from the frozen earth. Soon...

I’m focusing my attention very narrowly these days, and right now it’s firmly aimed at the spot by the stone wall where the season’s first snowdrops spring from the frozen earth. Soon...

Some snow day softness before things get really hard.

Some snow day softness before things get really hard.

I wish I could bottle the season’s first snow feeling to use as sensory smelling salts throughout the grey doldrums of January and February. For now, I suppose this photo will have to do.

I wish I could bottle the season’s first snow feeling to use as sensory smelling salts throughout the grey doldrums of January and February. For now, I suppose this photo will have to do.

I spent a magical Christmas Eve at @lunaluna among rides and attractions created by iconic artists including Keith Haring, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Salvador Dalí, and Roy Lichtenstein, soundtracked to original scores by David Byrne, Philip Glass, Thom Yorke, and more. It was a surprisingly moving experience—a straight shot of wonder, pure ambient music and vibes. Yet somehow, it left me melancholic—the idea that this circa-1987 amusement park could be devised today feels idealistic, to say the least. Perhaps it’s more a call to remember that creative processes and their products must remain fluid; that they must take on unconventional forms and delivery channels in order to find their audience. Luna Luna stands in brilliant, technicolor testament to play as an integral part of that practice.

I spent a magical Christmas Eve at @lunaluna among rides and attractions created by iconic artists including Keith Haring, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Salvador Dalí, and Roy Lichtenstein, soundtracked to original scores by David Byrne, Philip Glass, Thom Yorke, and more. It was a surprisingly moving experience—a straight shot of wonder, pure ambient music and vibes. Yet somehow, it left me melancholic—the idea that this circa-1987 amusement park could be devised today feels idealistic, to say the least. Perhaps it’s more a call to remember that creative processes and their products must remain fluid; that they must take on unconventional forms and delivery channels in order to find their audience. Luna Luna stands in brilliant, technicolor testament to play as an integral part of that practice.

Ya girl just found out she’s a @jamespattersonbooks and @americanbooksellers Holiday Bookstore Bonus recipient—what a thrill! I was chosen as one of 600 booksellers out of over 5,000 entrants, which is holy moly flattering. Boundless gratitude to my @frenchtown_bookshop team for nominating me.

My role as a bookseller has enriched my life in so many ways—from teaching me about the business of books to helping me directly support authors to providing me a safe space to wax bibliophilic with equally enthusiastic customers. Through this job, I’ve learned that the pursuits in life that are perfectly aligned are the ones that *give* you energy. Evangelizing books is one of my favorite things ever and this honor makes me feel like the work loves me just as fiercely.

I’ve always been a big believer in giving back, and Mr. Patterson is such an inspiration—pledging so much to those who helped him become a success is a deeply noble commitment, and I hope every person his generosity touches is able to thrive and eventually pay it forward. Thank you to Mr. Patterson, the ABA, and my Frenchtown Bookshop beloveds!

Ya girl just found out she’s a @jamespattersonbooks and @americanbooksellers Holiday Bookstore Bonus recipient—what a thrill! I was chosen as one of 600 booksellers out of over 5,000 entrants, which is holy moly flattering. Boundless gratitude to my @frenchtown_bookshop team for nominating me.

My role as a bookseller has enriched my life in so many ways—from teaching me about the business of books to helping me directly support authors to providing me a safe space to wax bibliophilic with equally enthusiastic customers. Through this job, I’ve learned that the pursuits in life that are perfectly aligned are the ones that *give* you energy. Evangelizing books is one of my favorite things ever and this honor makes me feel like the work loves me just as fiercely.

I’ve always been a big believer in giving back, and Mr. Patterson is such an inspiration—pledging so much to those who helped him become a success is a deeply noble commitment, and I hope every person his generosity touches is able to thrive and eventually pay it forward. Thank you to Mr. Patterson, the ABA, and my Frenchtown Bookshop beloveds!

I grew up obsessively watching Bob Ross on PBS and I just know he’d be tickled that I live in a place where I get to walk through one of his paintings several nights a week.

I grew up obsessively watching Bob Ross on PBS and I just know he’d be tickled that I live in a place where I get to walk through one of his paintings several nights a week.

Dad passed on 20 years ago today. My feelings about his presence and absence are ever-shifting. Our relationship didn’t die with him, it just became a one-sided conversation; an endlessly-looping reviewing and reckoning rendered in poor pantomime. All grief is complicated, and I won’t presume mine is any more or less so. Time both softens and supplants, which can be a mercy or a tragedy—sometimes it’s a relief to draw blood on the sharp edge of a memory.

Dad passed on 20 years ago today. My feelings about his presence and absence are ever-shifting. Our relationship didn’t die with him, it just became a one-sided conversation; an endlessly-looping reviewing and reckoning rendered in poor pantomime. All grief is complicated, and I won’t presume mine is any more or less so. Time both softens and supplants, which can be a mercy or a tragedy—sometimes it’s a relief to draw blood on the sharp edge of a memory.

I had to drag myself to the bookshop on Wednesday. The last thing I wanted to do was plaster on a friendly smile or entertain conversations about “it”. I wanted a sleeping pill and my bed, rinse repeat, until I could process the shock and fear. I got to town early and walked on the nearby towpath, steeling myself with nature’s stillness.

But over the course of that day, and the next, regulars trickled in to do wellness checks, taking coffee orders and giving hugs. Their care, along with the revolving door of customers clutching books to their chests like life jackets, made me realize that—in direct opposition to my instinct to isolate—it was the act of sharing a welcoming space and warm kindnesses that truly helped me reembody.

I feel such gratitude to work at the bookshop—a tiny island filled with escape pods to every conceivable foreign land. I’ve met so many like-minded travelers in my year there, and I feel more embraced and supported than in any other moment of my life.

On Thursday, Anne—a neighbor and friend of the shop—chatted with me as I scanned new stock. I confessed that I’d been despairing about selling my novel and writing my second book in this current and future climate. The pursuit seemed trivial compared to what we’d be up against. “I can’t think of one good reason to keep going with it all,” I lamented.

“Because you deserve to,” Anne said, in her decisive and wise way. “Because it’s what you’re here to do, and so you must do it without hesitation.”

She’s right, of course. In the months and years to come, art and connection are what will save us. Now is the time to gather your people, comfort and support each other, and extend your services to your respective communities in every way possible. Eventually, we must pull ourselves out of anguish and bravely venture forth with the creative work that calls to us. No doubt, it is going to be hard to laugh, to hope, to dream—but “in spite of” is yet another form of our resistance.

I had to drag myself to the bookshop on Wednesday. The last thing I wanted to do was plaster on a friendly smile or entertain conversations about “it”. I wanted a sleeping pill and my bed, rinse repeat, until I could process the shock and fear. I got to town early and walked on the nearby towpath, steeling myself with nature’s stillness.

But over the course of that day, and the next, regulars trickled in to do wellness checks, taking coffee orders and giving hugs. Their care, along with the revolving door of customers clutching books to their chests like life jackets, made me realize that—in direct opposition to my instinct to isolate—it was the act of sharing a welcoming space and warm kindnesses that truly helped me reembody.

I feel such gratitude to work at the bookshop—a tiny island filled with escape pods to every conceivable foreign land. I’ve met so many like-minded travelers in my year there, and I feel more embraced and supported than in any other moment of my life.

On Thursday, Anne—a neighbor and friend of the shop—chatted with me as I scanned new stock. I confessed that I’d been despairing about selling my novel and writing my second book in this current and future climate. The pursuit seemed trivial compared to what we’d be up against. “I can’t think of one good reason to keep going with it all,” I lamented.

“Because you deserve to,” Anne said, in her decisive and wise way. “Because it’s what you’re here to do, and so you must do it without hesitation.”

She’s right, of course. In the months and years to come, art and connection are what will save us. Now is the time to gather your people, comfort and support each other, and extend your services to your respective communities in every way possible. Eventually, we must pull ourselves out of anguish and bravely venture forth with the creative work that calls to us. No doubt, it is going to be hard to laugh, to hope, to dream—but “in spite of” is yet another form of our resistance.

Adding my perspective to the prolific aurora borealis content! I wandered the farm several times Thursday night to track the northern lights—scroll to see a full progression as the activity flares and fades. To me, each stage is equally beautiful—the silver pinprick sprays of stars, the melding pinks and blues, the spindly silhouettes of trunks and branches.

It’s interesting to me that many folks lamented the difference between seeing and photographing the event, since the sky appeared only faintly-colored until viewed through a longer-exposure lens. If anything, the experience should convince people of what spirit workers already know: there’s so very much more going on beneath the surface of what our eyes perceive.

Adding my perspective to the prolific aurora borealis content! I wandered the farm several times Thursday night to track the northern lights—scroll to see a full progression as the activity flares and fades. To me, each stage is equally beautiful—the silver pinprick sprays of stars, the melding pinks and blues, the spindly silhouettes of trunks and branches.

It’s interesting to me that many folks lamented the difference between seeing and photographing the event, since the sky appeared only faintly-colored until viewed through a longer-exposure lens. If anything, the experience should convince people of what spirit workers already know: there’s so very much more going on beneath the surface of what our eyes perceive.

A kitchen window-framed portrait of the garden’s last brilliant breath. I’m particularly enamored with the slumping blooms—I think we can all relate!

A kitchen window-framed portrait of the garden’s last brilliant breath. I’m particularly enamored with the slumping blooms—I think we can all relate!

Just in time for spooky season, fellow New Jerseyans can find a feature about me and my cemetery work in the October issue of @njmonthly, on newsstands now (also at the link in my bio). This is, remarkably, the second time one of my self-portraits has made it into a print publication. Swipe to rewind three years back, when what I thought was a casual interview resulted in an above-the-fold photo on the front page of the @washingtonpost’s Style section. I’ll never stop saying, “Who, ME?!” when these opportunities come knocking—I remain flabbergasted and grateful that my various pursuits inspire interest!

Just in time for spooky season, fellow New Jerseyans can find a feature about me and my cemetery work in the October issue of @njmonthly, on newsstands now (also at the link in my bio). This is, remarkably, the second time one of my self-portraits has made it into a print publication. Swipe to rewind three years back, when what I thought was a casual interview resulted in an above-the-fold photo on the front page of the @washingtonpost’s Style section. I’ll never stop saying, “Who, ME?!” when these opportunities come knocking—I remain flabbergasted and grateful that my various pursuits inspire interest!

Gonna assume that stumbling upon this magical scene portends miracles on the horizon…

Gonna assume that stumbling upon this magical scene portends miracles on the horizon…

As of today, my novel is officially out on submission to publishers. Once Bri sent me the news, I let it sink in on a lengthy walk along a favorite stretch of country road. The excitement of reaching this milestone comes with a heaping dose of fear. Relinquishing control is tough; exposing your creative project to wider scrutiny and opinion is far, far tougher. Whenever I start worrying five steps ahead, I remind myself how grateful I am to be having this experience. That I’m a student of the process. That I’m on magical bonus time, now—already in the territory of more than I expected. That everything I’ve faced up to this point has made me the person I need to be to meet this moment, and the next one, and the next one…

As of today, my novel is officially out on submission to publishers. Once Bri sent me the news, I let it sink in on a lengthy walk along a favorite stretch of country road. The excitement of reaching this milestone comes with a heaping dose of fear. Relinquishing control is tough; exposing your creative project to wider scrutiny and opinion is far, far tougher. Whenever I start worrying five steps ahead, I remind myself how grateful I am to be having this experience. That I’m a student of the process. That I’m on magical bonus time, now—already in the territory of more than I expected. That everything I’ve faced up to this point has made me the person I need to be to meet this moment, and the next one, and the next one…

It’s WILD to me that I’m posting this. I’m elated to share that I’ve signed with a literary agent, the incredible Brianne Johnson at HG Literary. Bri has an undeniable personal connection to my manuscript, and I know she’ll champion the hell out of it—see the next slide for her first-read reaction, which rendered me speechless (a real feat!) She’s also the great @heather_fawcett’s agent. Nbd.

I began querying my debut novel in December 2021, and spent 2.5 years fielding rejections, close calls, and deep edits (🫶 @lidijahilje). Only 1% of queriers land an agent, so I shelved the book in January to focus on my next project. It felt like courting heartbreak, but I write because I can’t not, and I had to keep going.

Then in mid-July, out of the blue, someone I’d queried in November 2023 offered me representation. It kicked off a whirlwind of emails and calls with agents that resulted in three (!!!) offers of rep. I feel so much gratitude for that first yes—it led to others prioritizing and connecting with my work. Every author’s journey to representation is different, and mine is particularly twisty and thorn-covered, but the old adage stands: you just need one yes.

This has been a true exercise in detachment. I clung so tightly to this novel for so long, held close my assumptions and expectations, struggled to control a deeply uncontrollable situation. And then, the moment I let go of needing an outcome, the desired one arrived. I wish the experience was as easy as summarizing it is.

It’s only fitting that I make this announcement with a cake from my beloved Beth at @honeymoonnj. She’s been by my side (literally next to me while I whisked pastry cream) as I’ve endured rejection after rejection, and she’s never stopped believing in me. Telling my loved ones this news means everything. They’ve supported me through some messy, ugly years, and all I want is to make them proud. If this accomplishes that, then I’m already a success.

Now, Bri and I will polish the manuscript together, then it goes out on submission to publishers. I hope someday you’ll get to hold my book in your hands. Thank you for reading my work and making me an author in my heart all this time.

It’s WILD to me that I’m posting this. I’m elated to share that I’ve signed with a literary agent, the incredible Brianne Johnson at HG Literary. Bri has an undeniable personal connection to my manuscript, and I know she’ll champion the hell out of it—see the next slide for her first-read reaction, which rendered me speechless (a real feat!) She’s also the great @heather_fawcett’s agent. Nbd.

I began querying my debut novel in December 2021, and spent 2.5 years fielding rejections, close calls, and deep edits (🫶 @lidijahilje). Only 1% of queriers land an agent, so I shelved the book in January to focus on my next project. It felt like courting heartbreak, but I write because I can’t not, and I had to keep going.

Then in mid-July, out of the blue, someone I’d queried in November 2023 offered me representation. It kicked off a whirlwind of emails and calls with agents that resulted in three (!!!) offers of rep. I feel so much gratitude for that first yes—it led to others prioritizing and connecting with my work. Every author’s journey to representation is different, and mine is particularly twisty and thorn-covered, but the old adage stands: you just need one yes.

This has been a true exercise in detachment. I clung so tightly to this novel for so long, held close my assumptions and expectations, struggled to control a deeply uncontrollable situation. And then, the moment I let go of needing an outcome, the desired one arrived. I wish the experience was as easy as summarizing it is.

It’s only fitting that I make this announcement with a cake from my beloved Beth at @honeymoonnj. She’s been by my side (literally next to me while I whisked pastry cream) as I’ve endured rejection after rejection, and she’s never stopped believing in me. Telling my loved ones this news means everything. They’ve supported me through some messy, ugly years, and all I want is to make them proud. If this accomplishes that, then I’m already a success.

Now, Bri and I will polish the manuscript together, then it goes out on submission to publishers. I hope someday you’ll get to hold my book in your hands. Thank you for reading my work and making me an author in my heart all this time.

Open the lovely little gem that is the @frenchtown_bookshop with me (yes, sometimes my life is a movie).

Open the lovely little gem that is the @frenchtown_bookshop with me (yes, sometimes my life is a movie).

A band of strong storms knocked out power on the farm three times in under a week (twice for longer than 24 hours), so I turned to a low-tech obsession to occupy my time: charting the growth of the wrens nesting in the light fixture outside my kitchen door. I haven’t managed an accurate chick head count, but there are at least seven—I’m particularly enamored by their floofy feather “antlers” and the fact that tufts of our sheep flock’s wool were used by their enterprising momma to build the nest. Swipe for an uninterrupted three minutes of hatchling bliss (come at me, @natgeo!)

A band of strong storms knocked out power on the farm three times in under a week (twice for longer than 24 hours), so I turned to a low-tech obsession to occupy my time: charting the growth of the wrens nesting in the light fixture outside my kitchen door. I haven’t managed an accurate chick head count, but there are at least seven—I’m particularly enamored by their floofy feather “antlers” and the fact that tufts of our sheep flock’s wool were used by their enterprising momma to build the nest. Swipe for an uninterrupted three minutes of hatchling bliss (come at me, @natgeo!)

I recently learned that stressed plants are more nutritious because they create beneficial antimicrobial substances to fight off aggressors—which means that bunch of kale with the holes in its leaves and the rainbow chard that’s got a few brown edges contain more antioxidants than their pristine counterparts. So not only will I solely be choosing battered produce from here on out, but I also more than qualify to identify as a nutrient-dense plant. I’m gonna live forever!!

I recently learned that stressed plants are more nutritious because they create beneficial antimicrobial substances to fight off aggressors—which means that bunch of kale with the holes in its leaves and the rainbow chard that’s got a few brown edges contain more antioxidants than their pristine counterparts. So not only will I solely be choosing battered produce from here on out, but I also more than qualify to identify as a nutrient-dense plant. I’m gonna live forever!!

I found this fascinating @river_harvest black walnut watercolor ink at the farmstand up the road, and it’s been sitting in my fridge for over a month, mocking my inability to make space for creative play. Today, during a sticky bout of writer’s block, I gave in and carved out time to experiment with it. And wouldn’t you know…in the wake of a quarter hour coaxing the sepia-toned liquid into layers, the words flowed.

I found this fascinating @river_harvest black walnut watercolor ink at the farmstand up the road, and it’s been sitting in my fridge for over a month, mocking my inability to make space for creative play. Today, during a sticky bout of writer’s block, I gave in and carved out time to experiment with it. And wouldn’t you know…in the wake of a quarter hour coaxing the sepia-toned liquid into layers, the words flowed.

43, I made it. I made it…

🪦 🪦 🪦

The full-bloom azalea bush is what drew me to this birthday self portrait setting, though I shouldn’t have been surprised to discover that dear Mary, who is interred beneath the ledger stone I’m leaning on, died on this day 108 years ago. Intuition guides inspiration, after all.

43, I made it. I made it…

🪦 🪦 🪦

The full-bloom azalea bush is what drew me to this birthday self portrait setting, though I shouldn’t have been surprised to discover that dear Mary, who is interred beneath the ledger stone I’m leaning on, died on this day 108 years ago. Intuition guides inspiration, after all.

Spring evening walks are unmatched.

Spring evening walks are unmatched.

I’ve always loved how gloom highlights the beauty of nature. (That goes for plants *and* people.)

I’ve always loved how gloom highlights the beauty of nature. (That goes for plants *and* people.)

The six new members of our flock only care about napping in a patch of sun, indulging random fits of the zoomies, wreaking havoc in roving groups, and snacking every 15 minutes. Forget meditation or spiritual enlightenment—just look to lambs for all your meaning-of-life needs.

The six new members of our flock only care about napping in a patch of sun, indulging random fits of the zoomies, wreaking havoc in roving groups, and snacking every 15 minutes. Forget meditation or spiritual enlightenment—just look to lambs for all your meaning-of-life needs.

A magical glimmer I love about early spring is the cheerful bursts of daffodils lining roadsides. They aren’t native flowers here in North America, which means their bulbs must be purposefully planted in the fall. I think it’s so beautiful that several someones migrated the joy from their gardens and yards to these publicly-trafficked places, for no reason other than to make us smile as we drive by the bright yellow blooms bowing in the wind and winking in the sun. More premeditated acts of public service, please!

A magical glimmer I love about early spring is the cheerful bursts of daffodils lining roadsides. They aren’t native flowers here in North America, which means their bulbs must be purposefully planted in the fall. I think it’s so beautiful that several someones migrated the joy from their gardens and yards to these publicly-trafficked places, for no reason other than to make us smile as we drive by the bright yellow blooms bowing in the wind and winking in the sun. More premeditated acts of public service, please!

Springing forth from an inadvertent months-long social media hibernation. This season has been a hard one in all the ways, and I just…stopped knowing how to show up. Or wanting to, really. So I didn’t. Anyway. Here’s my attempt at a return(ish) to form. Thank you for your sweet check-in messages. I’m grateful I’m here, and that you’re here with me.

Springing forth from an inadvertent months-long social media hibernation. This season has been a hard one in all the ways, and I just…stopped knowing how to show up. Or wanting to, really. So I didn’t. Anyway. Here’s my attempt at a return(ish) to form. Thank you for your sweet check-in messages. I’m grateful I’m here, and that you’re here with me.

In the wake of a year that was all hard edges, it felt important to greet the next one by gifting myself 24 hours of softness. I drove deep into Pennsylvania to stay at this incredible circa-1800 cabin for New Year’s Eve, where I curled up and read surrounded by gorgeous pine log walls and spent more time in the vintage clawfoot bathtub than I care to admit.

I’m deeply averse to disappointing people (boundaries are *hard*, y’all), and lately I’ve lost myself a bit because of it. This was an excellent reminder to show myself the same commitment and care that I extend to others. After all, we’re the architects of our own happiness—may we continue to conjure beautiful plans for ourselves! 🥂✨

In the wake of a year that was all hard edges, it felt important to greet the next one by gifting myself 24 hours of softness. I drove deep into Pennsylvania to stay at this incredible circa-1800 cabin for New Year’s Eve, where I curled up and read surrounded by gorgeous pine log walls and spent more time in the vintage clawfoot bathtub than I care to admit.

I’m deeply averse to disappointing people (boundaries are *hard*, y’all), and lately I’ve lost myself a bit because of it. This was an excellent reminder to show myself the same commitment and care that I extend to others. After all, we’re the architects of our own happiness—may we continue to conjure beautiful plans for ourselves! 🥂✨

Here’s to 2023 in the rearview and all the beauty that got me through…

Here’s to 2023 in the rearview and all the beauty that got me through…

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