The End of the Road

I speak fluent sarcasm and negative talk. But I don't like to trash talk, so I'm hesitant to give an honest review of the VRBO we just stayed the weekend at in Abbotsford.  

The space is a lovely newish 2-bedroom walkout basement suite.  It's bright with high ceilings and large windows. It was perfect for me to work on painting my Christmas cards during our down time while we were in town to tend to some family health issues. 

We arrived after dark in the rain so it was a bit tricky making our way down to the door at the back, but certainly not a problem. 

Flicking on the lights, we were impressed at first sight. 

The Paris room was fun

The first bedroom was decorated in a fun Paris theme. But we opted for the second bedroom because it has two night tables, which becomes increasingly important as we age and need spaces for hearing aid chargers, CPAP machines, phones, watches, water .... 

We were pleased to find a corkscrew in the kitchen drawer. But alas no wine glasses in the cupboards. While this is not a deal breaker for returning as repeat guests, it is always a treat to find them. On occasion we've purchased wine glasses and left them in VRBOs for others to enjoy.  And we certainly aren't above drinking our wine from a mug if necessary. 

When it came time to crawl into bed we looked in the closet for extra pillows as there were only two small pillows on the bed. And we need extra pillows - we are morning lollygaggers who enjoy our first coffee sitting in bed. 

There were plenty of yellowed well-slept-on pillows in the closet. But nary a one had a pillowcase. I was a little hesitant to lay my head on a pillow that a random stranger had also laid their head on without a thin little layer of cotton providing a barrier. 

A search through all the closets did not turn up pillowcases anywhere except on the one pillow in the closet of the other bedroom.  "Score!" I thought, until I pulled it down and realized it had spots of blood on it.  I swallowed the bit of puke that welled up in my mouth and tossed the pillow on the floor - blood side up so the cleaner would be sure to see it. 

Climbing into bed, resigned to a one-pillow night, we realized there was only a bottom sheet and a comforter on the bed.  The comforter looked clean so I convinced myself they wash it after every use. But had to wonder why? Why? I know the generations younger than I often have no use for a top sheet. And that's all fine and dandy if you are sleeping in your own sweat and body fluids. But in a bed shared by strangers? Wouldn't it be better just to have a sheet barrier that you could wash? 

The bed itself is probably an Ikea foam mattress and may have been the firmest mattress I have ever slept on that wasn't the actual floor. But it was surprisingly comfy. So no complaints there. 

We had seen in the photos on the website that the coffee pot was a drip pot so we had purchased a bag of Timmy's coffee while on the road. Turns out there was a can of Timmy's in the cupboard. We prefer our VRBOs to have Keurig style coffee pots, but consider that a non-issue. 

The reason we generally opt for VRBO over hotels is that we like to make our own breakfast, and bring eggs and all the things with us.  

In the morning I put the nonstick frying pan on to heat up for our omelette.  The pan was so warped it spun like a top on the stove, with about a one inch point actually touching the burner.  I realized this wasn't going to work and swapped out the pan for the other one in the cupboard. It wasn't nonstick. But it felt nice and heavy and flat-bottomed. 

I hadn't brought Pam or cooking oil. And the scant cupboards didn't contain such neither.  I know it's not a requirement, but it's things like cooking oil, pan spray, ziplock bags and plastic wrap, salt and pepper and wine glasses that make me keen to promote and recommend a VRBO.  And pillowcases.  Definitely pillowcases.  I actually think pillowcases ARE required. 

Anyway, we enjoyed our omelette and left the pan to soak the stuck on egg while we enjoyed the shower. It was seriously a fantastic shower. A rain head (which we are used to at home) that has incredible water pressure. I have to say, everything about the bathroom, with the exception of the long black hair on the floor, was wonderful. The tub was sparkling clean and the towels were marvellous. 

But back to the omelette pan. It took Jim longer to scrub the pan with the useless sponge scrubber than it took me to scrub my body, wash and dry my hair and put on make-up. 

Our first stop had us purchasing pot scrubbers and paper towels - there was a paper towel holder on the counter, but alas no paper towel on it. And we are first world people who have spent most of our adult lives trying to keep a pulp mill operational. We use a LOT of paper towels.

The second day I opted to stay in the suite and work on my hand painted Christmas cards that I feel I am significantly behind in creating this year, while Jim attended our two grandson's hockey practice which, conveniently, was just a short distance from our VRBO. 

While painting I decided to heat and enjoy the 2-day-old cinnamon bun we had purchased at Horstings Farm on the way down.  But alas, the microwave did not work. I tried plugging it into the other outlet that worked for the toaster to no avail. But even cold a 2-day-old cinnamon bun from Horstings is a pretty sweet treat. 

This extended time in the suite during the day allowed me to really look around and become aware of the dust that coated everything. Now, to be fair, there was sound and physical evidence to indicate maybe there were some renovations going on in other parts of the home. Perhaps another short-term rental suite? who knows. 

But there was enough dust on the coffee and tv tables that I could, and did, write my name in the dust.  Ok, maybe not my name. But I did draw smiley faces.  Was this dust understandable and forgivable? Absolutely. 

Were the dust webs, spiders and such hanging from the ceiling and corners of the walls? Maybe not so much. 

I have no idea if the owner does their own cleaning or if someone else comes in. But either way someone is dropping the ball here. 

Normally, if there are laundry facilities in the suite, we throw the bedding and towels in before we leave.  There were no machines in this suite, so we stripped the bed and threw the comforter and single sheet in a pile with the wet towels on the floor to ensure there was no option but to wash them all.

I kinda wished I hadn't stripped the bed and learned what we had just slept on....

No. Just no. 

We generally leave a 'healthy' tip for the cleaners.

This time, while we didn't refuse to leave a cash blessing on the table, it was a significantly less healthy tip than we would normally leave after a three night stay. 

And it's too bad. Cuz this place actually has potential to be a fantastic stay.  

But my recommendation is that they take the $500 we just gave them to buy some sheets and pillowcases, a decent frying pan, a box of ziplock bags, some Gladwrap and a duster. And maybe a can of Pam or bottle of olive oil. Because these items would ensure repeat customers and further recommendations. 

But as it is, it's the end of the road for us. 

Your Sins Will Find You Out

 Missing my Dad today. 

And remembering a couple of things he used to say when we were growing up. 

"Him who knows to do right, but does it not, to him it is sin." 

"Be sure. Your sins will find you out." 

As a youngster, I don't think I knew if it was just a fatherly warning similar to mom convincing us she had eyes in the back of her head, or if he was quoting the King James Bible. 

I googled it today to verify. Yup. It was the bible. 

****

Last week I had my annual (for EIGHTEEN years now) breast cancer survivor check-up with my family doctor. 

At the medical clinic I tried a couple of times to tap my credit card at the parking pay station but the machine wouldn't respond. As I was about to insert the card into the slot the woman behind me said, "Don't worry about it, the tap isn't working. I'm here to fix the machine." 

I responded, "Oh, I can insert it."

"No. Seriously you are good. No one is patrolling the lot." 

Historically that particular medical building was known to never issue tickets if you didn't have a parking pass. And I rarely bought one.  Not because I was trying to "get away with saving 50 cents." But more because in this age of technology, they still used a slot machine, similar to old laundromat machines, where you had to insert 2 quarters so the machine would spit out a ticket that you then had to walk back to your car to place on the dash. Old school. And inconvenient. And who has quarters anymore. 

A year or two ago they updated to electronic machines that take cards and there's no need to put a ticket on the dash. You don't even have to stand in line at the machine - you can scan the QR code and pay on your phone. 

And honestly, I don't even mind paying the upgraded-to-a-dollar price for parking. It's convenient now, and cheap compared to big city parking. 

Today when I arrived at the medical building to get routine blood testing done at the lab there was a bit of a line up at the parking meter. 

I stopped for a moment. Then remembered the technician last week telling me the lot wasn't being patrolled. 

Hmmpft. I shrugged. I have an appointment so I shouldn't be more than 10 minutes. And I deserve free parking. 

And off to the lab I headed. 

Appointment schmointment.  It still took over half an hour by the time the packed waiting room and my tiny little arm veins gave up a wee vial of blood. It's always a struggle and they often have to resort to a baby butterfly needle in the back of my hand to get blood from me. 

Too bad they couldn't take it from a varicose vein in my leg- they could probably access one of those suckers with a maple syrup tap. 

Short story long, I arrived to a parking ticket on my windshield. 

And my Daddy's words rang loud and clear.  I knew I should buy a parking ticket. But I did not.  "To him it is sin."    

*Guilty* 

And I was found out. 

But I saved the one dollar ticket today. And another one last week. 

So my parking fine is really only 78 dollars, not the eighty stated on the ticket. 

Yeah, you heard that right.  EIGHTY dollars for a parking ticket. 

Just buy the ticket folks. 

Granny is Grateful

 I think gift wrapping is probably one of my favourite things to do. 

(And on a side note rabbit tail, I really miss the days in the mall in November and December when I, along with my daughter-in-law Jade would volunteer our time to wrap gifts  and raise money for Cystic Fibrosis  and the Child Development Centre. )

As far as joy, it's right up there with laying on a tropical beach soaking up vitamin D and cancer cells.  

Maybe not quite as high as coaching one of your grandchildren through the birth canal and into life on earth. But it does bring me joy none-the-less. 

Theme wrapping is a thing with me. There will be NO misshapen gifts nor things that don't match the current year's colour scheme.  - else they will wait in the other room until it's time to open them. 

Sometimes beautiful paper is all glittery and sparkly There is nothing more magical.  Except when it comes from glitter hell.  This year's "tree" paper ranks as such.  

"Devil's Dust" I call it.  But C'est la vie. It's pretty. 

And the devil's dust is spread from the basement, where I wrapped the gifts, along a path up the stairs leading to the resting place under the tree. 

It's hell to clean up It still brings me joy. 

But things have changed,

My family gift buying used to include three children and their dad who didn't want gifts, and one "name-drawn sibling, parent, niece or nephew.' 

Gone are the days of "gift opening games" that drag the event out for 2-3 hours. 

Gone are the days where everyone gets 2-9 gifts each of things that Granny loves and/or found for an extremely reasonable price - starting back in January with clearance sales. 

These days, Jim and I have 29 children, grandchildren, their spouses and a great granddaughter. 

It's getting out of hand. 

Even spending $200 on each would amount to equaling a pretty decent vaycay in Hawaii.  

And I could guarantee that I'd get more happiness from a tropical vacation than their combined glee at receiving clearance-clearance items from superstore or a made-in-china item from an Amazon's Prime Day sale. 

So for the most part, our kids get a baking tray, or a high five,  or nothing, 

The wee grands still get a gift.  I try to stay current and get something thoughtful and appreciated. But that can be hard in today's rapidly changing market, whims and wishes. 

The bigger grands get a token cash e-transfer that they share with their spouse. 

And Jed gets a half dozen or so household and personal items that he'd never buy for himself - kitchen items, socks, underwear and hygiene crap. 

And Jimmy gets a "family thing" that I would have bought anyway .... even if he didn't look at the receipt and/or credit card statement to accidentally discover what's coming.

So often the gifting seems superficial. 

But then I get to wrap it and put it under the tree. 

And suddenly it all becomes about me.... 

It's so pretty. 

And matchy. 

And magical. 

And Granny is grateful...

Cups or glasses?

 English is weird. 

Well, I suppose it must just be colloquial, not necessarily 'English.'  But here in Western Canada the term 'cups' and 'glasses' is often interchangeable.  

I'm feeling bloggy again today ... twice within three days. Sometimes I blog twice in a year. 

Today I had a big paint party workshop out at Ness Lake for a ladies retreat. 

I've been doing paint parties for almost 15 years now. 

Truth be told, I still feel somewhat like an imposter as an artist, and it still blows my mind that I would be one to stand in front of a roomful of people instructing them in anything.  

But here I am. 

In the early days, classes of 4-8 were all I could handle. 

These days if a class is less than 15, I consider it small and intimate. 

Today was a group of 20. 

I'd be lying if I said I no longer get nervous before a class. But honestly the thing that stresses me most is forgetting something. 

Today I packed my supply bags out to the garage and set them behind my car and went back into the house to brew a coffee before heading off. 

As the coffee was brewing I had slight panic attack. Well not really panic, but a clear sensing of "Cups. did you pack cups?" (For a paint party we need cups for water to clean brushes and make paint puddles.) Probably not the most imperative thing to bring, but necessary none-the-less. 

Maybe I should just throw in a sleeve red solo cups to be sure. So I did. 

As I was loading the bags into the back of the car, I saw that there was a sleeve of my regular water cups in the bag. Oh well, I guess I have extra cups. 

Then as I was climbing into the driver's seat, my "cups" warning turned into a "glasses" warning. I had cups. But do I have glasses? 

I knew I always have a pair of 'readers' in my purse. And they can work for paint parties, but with readers I am always taking them on and off. It's not ideal. It's better to have a pair of prescription glasses that I can leave on my face. 

I ran back into the house and grabbed a pair of prescription glasses while having the weird thought, "Cups and glasses can mean the same thing. I was stressed about not having cups, but it was glasses I needed." 

And off to the party I went. 

I put my prescription glasses on and taught the class. (While my favourite red framed reading glasses sat docile in my purse.)

During class, a woman came up to me in a panic. "I just sat on my glasses and broke them. Do you have any sort of glue to fix them? They are just Costco readers, but I cannot read or observe any other seminars this. weekend without them." 

We tried using sticky dots and masking tape to repair her glasses. Nope. Not gonna happen, 

Ahh, yes. I am wearing my prescription glasses and I have a pair of readers in my purse. 

She was overwhelmed as I insisted she take my red-framed readers. Now she could fully engage in her remaining sessions of the retreat weekend.  

Had I not ran back for my prescription glasses I could not have offered her my readers. 

Cups? Glasses? 

I had a slight initial misinterpretation, but translating "cups" into "glasses" worked out to be the solution. 

Waving a White Towel

"Mom, I'm heading out on the road with West Coast Amusements next summer." 

I heard this pretty much every August since 2008, when Jed started picking up a weekend of work with WCA here in Prince George at the Exhibition.  I would just smile and nod, because I have learned to pick my fights.  

I remember the very first time he came home after a day at the fair grounds and told me he had just spent the day operating rides. I darn near had a heart attack. And offered up a prayer of safety for all children near and far. 

And with very few summers off, every August when the fair came to town Jed would show up in his work boots on Tuesday and come home with a bag of cash on Sunday.  

In the fall of 2022 he began in earnest to pursue the thought of heading out on the road with WCA come spring. 

Rather than continue to fight it I decided to just let him try it out.  I even contacted a relative who had worked for years with WCA. 

"It's effing brutal," her short answer. 

Jim and I made bets.  I can't remember which one of us said he'd be home in three weeks. The other gave him two. 

And on March 8, 2023 we dropped him and his sleeping bag off in Chilliwack in the middle of the WCA parking lot under a cloud of marijuana smoke and surrounded by a motley crew. 

Oh dear Jesus... 

And the next thing we knew we were back in Chilliwack to pick him up at the end of the season in October.  And Jed had seen much of BC, the Island, Alberta and even Saskatchewan. 

He earned many thousands of dollars. And came home with a grand total of 17.  Yes. Seventeen dollars. 

"Oh that must have been a nice break for you," I heard from many people. 

Yeah, no.  It was still a full time job for me dealing with his housing and rent, disability pension, social workers, the what-ifs, and the shock of some of the stories he'd tell me of being on the road. Details no mother wants to hear. 

It was much safer to just bury my head and imagine horrible things that might happen, while pretending they wouldn't: drugs, alcohol, vaping, casinos, clubs, lap dances, losing money, giving money away, paying other people's phone bills, and all sorts of other wild imaginings. Some I never dreamed of... until he told me the details of. And praying all the while, "Please God, for the love of all things holy, please, please do not let him make a baby." 

So no, it wasn't a break for Mama. 

Jed however, loved his life as a carny and couldn't wait to go back.  

And he did.  For another two and a half seasons. Until his poor decisions started to catch up with him.  And after a couple of months on the road, this year he was asked to go home and "get his head together" and he would be welcome to come back next year in the spring of 2026.  (That's the short story.) 

However, "getting your head together" isn't easy when the job you love has been taken away from you and you really don't like where you live, and you yearn for independence. 

Each year, coming back to his Community Home Share home after his months of independence on the road got harder and harder on his mental health. And consequently my mental heath.  😊

But Jed is nothing, if not determined.  On May 8th he decided he no longer drinks alcohol. And to my knowledge he hasn't since. 

He also determined he was leaving Prince George.  

And with zero help or encouragement from his mother or sister, (quite the opposite, in fact) in August he bought himself an e-scooter (that's a whole 'nother story in itself) loaded it onto the BC Bus and headed off to Osoyoos to meet a couple of girls he used to work with at WCA. 

Almost a whole book can be written about that seven days in the life of Jed. But a week later, after a couple of nights alone on the streets of Vancouver (Again, a whole book could probably be written about how his week in Osoyoos ended up on the streets of Vancouver) he arrived back in PG determined to give his notice at his Community Home. 

He was moving to Osoyoos.  

Probably just about the furthest town in BC he could go to get away from his mother. 

Where he knows almost nobody.  Save for three WCA employees, whom I had never met. Or even heard of before August for that matter.

Mama just threw up her hands clutching a white towel. 

And on September 26th, Sarah, Brandi and their two dogs arrived in my driveway to cram him and all of his belongs into their vehicle. And off he went to live in their basement suite without so much as a look back in the rearview mirror.

And on the first of October, I gave official notice to the home he has lived in for ten-and-a-half years.

He phones and FaceTimes me anywhere from 5 to 15 times a day. He takes me grocery shopping. He shows me the beach. He has me check his meatloaf for doneness. 

But he is happy. And vibrant. And loving having his own kitchen space. 

He gets up in the morning and makes himself breakfast before throwing in a load of laundry and having a shower, and then heading off to work. How many miracles can one sentence contain? 

Heading off to work...

He had been gone from 'home' for less than two weeks when he found himself a full time job working at SaveOn Foods. 

And he gets to wear a uniform. 

Tomorrow I will go to Devin's house for the final time and clean out his room. 

And I stand here, from afar, waving my white towel and cheering him on. 

Is there anything better than a job with a uniform. 

 

You Get What You Pay for it Seems

In 2018 I bought myself a birthday present. I don't know that I had ever done that before...or since. 

Oh for sure I had, and have since, picked out things and gave strong hints bordering on commands as to what I would like. 

I may even have on occasion wrapped said gifts for the generous giver.  

But that year I lived alone and had no one to give hints and requests to. And no one to rein me in. 

And Opus Art Supplies had Daniel Smith professional watercolour paints on sale. 

I bought a 28-pan palette from Amazon and ordered 28 tubes of paint from Opus to fill them. 

Tubes of paint are priced according to the colour. Not that the prettiness of a colour determines its value; prices are based on the minerals used to make each colour. 

Regular price for 15ml tubes of professional paint range from $20-$30 each. It was a big investment. 

But they were on sale, I justified myself out of habit.  

I know it looks messy... but it makes pretty pictures.
And yes, that's a puppy pee pad I use for a table cloth so I can just wipe my brushes on it. 

Over the years I've had to top up the pans with fresh paint, some colours more often than others. 

This week, many of the pans were getting low on colour and looking kinda messy. I felt the need to clean it up a bit. - Did I tell you that on August 20th I’m gonna be a featured “Artist in the Garden” at an upcoming Farm-to-Table event at Wildflower Farm? (But that’s whole other story.)

I need a somewhat presentable palette to use while painting on display. (I cannot even believe I’m doing this. But again, that’s a whole other story) 

So tonight, mostly in an act of procrastination of doing the tasks I need to be doing, I decided to squeeze tubes of colour into my palette and top up the pans. 

You have no idea how much geeky satisfaction this task brings me. 

And joy. 

And gratitude. As I realize how justifiable it really was all those years ago to purchase professional paint.  Sure it cost nearly $500. Seven years ago.  

I used pliers to squeeze the last dregs from two of the tubes. Undersea Green and Opera Pink.  Those are the first two tubes I have emptied in all these years. Most of the rest of the tubes average about 50% remaining. 

And I paint A LOT.   I've even made up a couple of smaller travel size palettes.  

I must disclose the only reason I ran out of those two colours in particular is because I have put them on my student palettes. They are just wonderful unique colours not available in the student grade paints I use for my paint parties. (I've replaced my student paint tubes many many times) 

Anyway, I just wanted to give a shout out to Daniel Smith Extra Fine Watercolours. 

And if I've given you permission to buy yourself an over-the-top birthday present. You're Welcome. 

 

Winner Winner Chicken Dinner!

For inexplicable reasons 8, 17 and 42 have, from a very young age, been my favourite numbers. (Weirdly, I was a child when I picked these numbers but 8 was my late husband's hockey number and 17 is my current husband's hockey number and between the two of them I have been married nearly 42 years.)  But enough about that for now.

So far the year 2025 has been "Workshop" year for me.  I literally have lost count of how many workshops, lives, tutorials, challenges and classes I have already participated in during the first 85 days of the year.  Many include paint. Some include fabric - making me a wee bit regretful that I have wheedled the enormous stash of fabric I inherited from my Mama down to just 2 Rubbermaid containers. 

In my sanctified reasoning many of these workshops fall into the category of crafting, rather than art. Some are a combo of both.

It has taken many years for me to stifle my "imposter syndrome" enough to be able to call myself "An Artist."  And now, here I am an artist and reverting back to my crafting days. And though I am enjoying them, I have to admit that I sort of feel like I'm cheating on myself.  I'm not sure why. For truly both arts AND crafts are exercising the same gift of creativity.  

Anyway, let's get on with the story I came here to tell you.  (Writing is my other 'thing.' I can write, art and craft. But don't ask me to talk, sing or dance - I drew the short straw there.) 

So this morning I had a zoom call in one of the final days of a ten day creative workshop with BB Henry Arts (Go ahead and google her-  she is super creative and diverse and she does a bit of everything for everyone.) 

This was actually a FREE 10-day workshop.  Being free, and being that BB (Brooke Henry) is a pretty dynamic and talented person, led to there being over 9000 people signed up for the workshop. Yup. NINE thousand.  I was one. 

Today was the 5th of five zoom calls in the workshop. During each call Brooke usually hands out 8-10 giveaways. These include art supplies, works of art, free admission to paid membership in classes and workshops etc.  

The way these giveaways are conducted, she has her assistant do a random number generator and the first person to guess the number between one and 100 is deemed the winner. 

Today I had the zoom call running on my phone without my face in active video while I was in my studio doing other things. (I've been sort of down and out for a week with a cold and I am trying to be prepared to leave for Hawaii in 2 days and also be prepared to teach two large paint nights within 3 days when I return on April 26.) 

Shortly into the zoom call, Brooke does a giveaway.  I know from experience that with this many people in the group it usually takes nano seconds for someone to guess the correct number between one and 100. I didn't even try to get back to my phone with my wet hands to enter a guess. But I said out loud to no one, "Seventeen is my guess." 

Yup 17 was the number. Yay Sarah, or Lucy or Michelle, or whatever your name was. I was pretty stoked that you picked my number and won.  

A while later my hands were dry when the next giveaway took place so I scrambled to my phone to enter my pick. I knew I was a bit late to the game so I opted to enter "8" rather than my other favourite number of "42."  The middle of the pack numbers always get guessed first. I knew I stood a better chance by picking a low number or a high number. 

Holy Hannah! I won! I freaking won!  I am the proud new member of BB's RingDex Class, which honestly I had already been looking at paying the membership fee to join.  Woohoo!  This was after a bit of anonymity after realizing my zoom identity was "iPhone user" instead of my actual name. But I won indeed. 

This drew me into the call more intimately and I started working on a project for the class while I sat closer and paid more attention to the screen.

About 15 minutes later there as another giveaway. This one for a membership in different class. 

I was quick to respond so I entered my 'middle of the pack' favourite number. 42 

Uh yeah. I won.  

We are talking nano seconds to be the first to enter the winning number. And I'm a bit zoom challenged when it comes to making my way around a call. 

Turns out they opted to give someone else a chance. 

The second person to guess my lucky 42 was awarded the prize. I'm super happy for her.  I like my prize better. AND prize or no prize, the fact that I won makes me feel like the winner.  

There were a number of other giveaways during the call, but I opted not to enter a number knowing I wouldn't win anyway.  I wish now that I had written a number down... y'know just to play along. 

I don't remember the rest of the winning numbers.  But I'm sure I woulda called them.  

I am an artist. A crafting artist. I am a crafting artist who can do math. But I'm not mathy enough to figure the odds of the number of people picking numbers between 1 and 100 and guessing the first three numbers correct. 

Seriously.  

I did not go out and by a lottery ticket today. But you are welcome to use my numbers.   8, 17, 42.   If you need three more I would go with 3, 12 and 20.  (These are more intentional numbers for me- come for a visit if you want the 'why') 

You're welcome.  I will take a 10% tithe of your winnings.