Patty Shambles and all his Fine Nonsense

Hand written humour since 1969.

You always were my favourite photographer

Inhale, a breath pacifies through-in

– lungs pressed tightly to your ribs.

Exhale, a sudden release

– thrills invigorate your frame.


I want you to see me as I am.

Undisguised, naked as our first day.


Yet there you stand,

lost in silence,

or have I lost you

in the folds of space we call time.


Your mind hazed,

with nicotine stained memories

of a place to long ago to remember.

Cottage country

Only my friends and family would band together in the turning of a season to gather for one final sch-bang at the the cottage.


The cottage is one of my favourite places on the earth. It belongs to one of my best friends, who’s engaged to my older brother.

This weekend is her birthday. So ten of us piled onto the boat and hauled ass across the lake lugging provisions inclusive of everything from princess tiaras to more beer than I could possibly count. If we could live here, we would. It is the definition of serenity – utter bliss. One more is to join our ranks this eve, it is then that the party will truly commence.


Yet, do not get me wrong, it has been quite the busy weekend thus far. No lack of entertainment on this island, even though we have no TV. You’re probably wondering by now as to what I am alluding to… The one, minute (well, not so minute), detail that I have conveniently not disclosed is that we are not here alone. That is not to say there are bogeymen or unicorns on the island, but we did bring six dogs along for the weekend.


The dogs are as follows (in age):

Baby – Chihuahua/Pomeranian – 5 years

Pandora (Dora) – Jack Russell/Boston Terrier – 3 years

Jester – Lab/Border Collie – 3 years

Sprout – Chihuahua – 2 years

Loraline (Lola) – Pug/Jack Russell – 2 years

Mischief Elliot (Missy) – Doberman – 3 months



There has not been a dull moment…


Expect some poetry momentarily, I wrote another one on the dock today.

Picture perfect

Aperture, set







Change pose.



Restructure: physical renovation,

Improvement – always improving.







Fragments of your soul, revised.





Another flaw removed.



Perfection, sought

in the stillness of a frame.


Steam melting

off your figure

in the midst of it all.

Nocturnal creativity

It has always been a wonder of mine as to what motivates my brain to function thousand-fold after the moon reaches its peak in the night sky.


Writing, running through my day, planning tomorrow or just plain sitting here with too many thoughts to manage.

Midnight hours are most certainly my prime.


G’nite beautiful world.

We live to breathe another day.


City scape

Could I open your eyes from the grey

to the intense beauty,

or are you stuck in that city scape?


Mile high buildings,

and endless cement.


Stop, go


come and go.


I see both lights,

both darks,

come into my darkroom

and let the colours come alive.

Interior tile blossoming

interrupting secrets,

intricate tales of success.


the grass comes alive

under a cherry tree



pirouette, chassé


congruent conclusion:

the dark will carry light.

Introduction to the new collection

What more to desire than expansion to the realm of Patty?


Alas, it is truth.

I have decided to begin releasing miscellaneous poems I have sitting here collecting hopes they are read eventually.


First on the list are two poems I’ve uncovered from my high school years.

Scribbled on the pages of my sketchbook from a night when, my old friend Nina and I, sat in the bathtub at a house party getting in touch with our literary side.

Freshly edited for your perusal.




Enjoy these next two…I did.

I have returned

I know, I know.


It has been far too long for you Pattyholics to go without your latest fix.

No need to worry any longer, the Shambles has returned.



Plume’s poised and ready to scribe.


Expect more from me soon…

QUITE soon!

To rideshare or not to rideshare – that is the question

I was in a car driving to Ottawa — from Toronto, it’s not too far.
Just about 500 km or so – 4 hours if you don’t drive like my father.


My boyfriend and I were heading there for my mum’s family annual horseshoe tournament. This tradition pre-dates my exisitence, and having not been in a few years now my attendance was necessary. We decided to catch a rideshare to Ottawa to save some cash, and luckily found a young driver leaving when we needed.

Rideshares are certainly a questionable way to travel. Yet, in my opinion, almost completely safe.

Of course there’s the odd chance you may choose a serial murderer as your driver. But the chances of that are probably the same as encountering one walking down a dimly lit street. Yes there are crazies, but I’ve yet to draw the short straw. All of my drivers have been nice, cheery and sane. Thank Perkins, cause if not I’m sure my mother would have been rather uneasy about my travel choices.

I’ve had a couple awkward situations arise during a rideshare before.

I have included my most recent escapade here.

As I said, most of my rideshare experiences have been rather peachy.

Although there are the minorly aggravating people. Not many, but you will always find a couple who seem to find it entertaining to drum out every beat of the song over their thighs.  This was the case of our last rideshare.

Sometimes you just want sleep and the most minute of things can tick you off. Nobody wants to listen to crappy metal riffs and your hands slapping your legs when they’re trying to catch some zz’s before the journey is over.

Note to readers: if you’ve ridden with a driver before opt for the front seat to minimize opportunity for radio pirating.

The deal breaker: we had previously ridden with this driver coming to Ottawa, and had informed him of our last rideshare experience.

Our last experience: It was my boyfriend’s first rideshare. He had never explored this option of travel before, familiar only to planes, trains, and automobiles. In his opinion, it is the most dodgy form of travel known to modern man. Well, that is to say aside from train-hopping, hitchhiking and a few other questionable forms of travel. Let us be honest for just a moment. Rideshares are a glorified form of hitchhiking – pitch in a bit of untaxed loot towards the gas tank and you’re golden. Back to the story- we were leaving from Ottawa to return to Toronto after a week-long visit.

It was six in the morning. I don’t think I had ever left so early when gracing a rideshare. Anyways, we hopped in the car with my mother and she whipped us down the road to the local gas station. It was from here we were scheduled to depart. Over the phone, the driver informed me that another girl would be catching the ride with us from the station. We were caught off guard, wasn’t it to be only us in the car? Were we not banking on the copious amount of resting room we were to be granted?

Our plan was foiled. We arrived at the gas station rubbing our eyes as we unloaded our luggage from my mother’s Benz. There was a frumpy looking girl waiting outside the convenience store. Frumpy was probably too kind a description for this post-apocalyptic raver chick. Torn camo-print cargo pants, with tear-away zippers at the knee. A hideous shirt from some rave scene or another. And, of course, her forearms were littered with bile-inducing plastic rainbow beaded bracelets. Kandy. Oh goodness, I thought leaving arts high school I’d ridden myself of such distasteful accessories. Apparently not. Nonetheless, we all flocked into the vehicle and hit the road.

Halfway down the 416 the girl suggested we listen to one of her CDs. To our dismay she decided to pass up a “Happy Hardcore” CD. This, my friends, is one form of music that should have died years ago. And died again when it was suggested to be played at 6.30 in the morning. Yet somehow the driver agreed. I don’t think I need to continue further with such distressful tales.

Patty’s verdict: Go on, save your money and hop in a rideshare. If you do, I have included a brief list of survival tools crucial to your successful travels.

Rideshare Survival Kit 101

– Bear spray (never know who your driver is)

– Headphones (to block out incessant noise)

– Smartphone (with data connection for constant GPS/safety access)

– Provisions (in case you get dropped somewhere along the 401)

A true MacGyver

The other day I was sitting front seat of my friend’s car driving along the streets of St. Catherine’s.

Getting into her car, she warned of its mounds of garbage. Potentially an old burger or two.

We pulled over at a 7-11 for a brief moment, at which point I took it upon myself to cleanse her car of the aforementioned rubbish. I began to remove the debris. This was inclusive of multiple water bottles, Red Bull, tissue, remnants of a cheeseburger and many other revolting discoveries. In my opinion, I was doing quite the good job. Back and forth, back and forth I went to and from the garbage can. Alas I was nearly done emptying the refuse of her car. I sat back down. Looking around I noticed I’d cleared almost everything. Then, from the corner of my eye, I noticed the half-empty bag of cosmetic pads. The bag was kinda of tattered, dirty – really. This final piece of trash was the bane of my existence. In a moment of obsessive compulsive mindlessness I outstretched my arm reaching for the bag. My friend stopped me, exclaiming that I could not dispose of this. I asked her why I couldn’t and she proceeded to tell me “you can’t because that’s my make-shift tampon kit…every girl’s gotta have one”.

I could not stop laughing.

This, my friends – is a true MacGyver.