Shoo Fly Pie and Apple Pandowdy

Memory and communication are similar in that we long to have both in some pure sense. With both, our best gauges are far too susceptible to contamination to make them reliable.

I recently had the chance to spend time with my mother, whose hearing has declined significantly, and my father, who has progressed beyond the first stages Alzheimer’s. Among other variables, communications between them hinge and sway on the general comprehension of the moment at hand and the irregularities of ambient sound. Similar symptoms manifest themselves in their conversation regardless of the cause.

“What’s in them?” My father pointed to two white unmarked pie boxes on the counter.

“Pie – I told ya three times!” She was putting away the dishes.

“Ooh – what kind?”

“I said before - there is what is left of the raisin one and there is a new Shoo-fly Pie.”

My father immediately broke into singing what was clearly the closing line of a song, “Shoo-fly pie and apple pandowdy, I never get enough of that wonderful stuff!” My mother joined him to sing the same line again and when I said that I never heard that song before, neither of them heard me over their own voices. Apart from that line, neither of them knew any other lyrics.

My mother took a plate from in front of my father, "That dish isn't clean." he said.

My mother turned her head quickly toward me, "Did he say that fish ain't meat?"

I laughed and said loudly, “No Mom – he said that that dish isn’t clean.”

“Oh – I know that!” she said, slightly irritated.

I wasn't certain that she heard me and I didn’t know who she was talking to. I didn’t know if what she knew was that the dish wasn’t clean or she did in fact hear what he said.

I looked at my father as he began singing again and realized that he was unaware that he had not been heard. I thought about what that meant and wondered how often it happened in their every day. “Oftener and oftener.” I said softly aloud.