One of the most fascinating things about being back in Mayberry after 25 years is that everybody has a backstory.

Nearly every where I go and every person I talk to -- there’s always a hidden narrative binding us together.  I have forgotten more stories than I remember, to be sure; but, usually, some interesting tidbit can be dredged up if I furrow my memory.

And, oh, how I love plowing the depths of my past.  Mr. Mom doesn’t indulge me very often, but I occasionally talk him into taking walks around town with me.  Like a manic tour guide, I narrate the entire walk with random facts and scuttlebutt about every house and person we pass. 

Part of it, I know, is that I’m just so damn happy to feel connected to my community again, even if the link is trivial and all I can say is “I cleaned that lady’s house once when I was 17.  Her bathroom is enormous with acres of Mary-Kay-pink ceramic tile.”  And part of it is -- even though I know Mr. Mom loves living here -- I want him to love it the way I love it, to know the backstories that stitch me to the crazy quilt that is Mayberry.

Narrative tidbits during recent outings include . . .

While voting Tuesday at the library

Poll Worker #1 (Sandra):  Remember, she’s the daughter of my grandmother’s best friend? Her mother made all my special dresses, including two prom dresses and my homecoming dress.  She just lives a couple of blocks down the street from us.

Poll Worker #2 (Bonnie):  I told you about her, right?  She was really cute and popular and I so desperately wanted to be her friend.  One time she came to my house -- it was 6th grade I think -- and she admired a bulletin board in my bedroom.  She asked where I got it, and when I told her my mother made it, she said “It looks cruddy enough to be homemade.”  That made me really mad. Then she moved away and I never really got to know her.

While shopping at the grocery store

Bagboy (Roger): He’s not from Mayberry.  He’s from the town down the road, but maybe he lives here now -- I’m not sure.  He used to play softball with a former boyfriend and one summer on the way to the game, there was a terrible car accident and his brother was killed. 

While downing hot wings at the Superbowl party

Guy-you-don’t-know talking to guy-you-do-know (Jeff):  He’s the doctor.  Remember, I told you he’s the judge’s brother?  I saw him last week and didn’t recognize him at first.  I thought he was the oldest brother.

Of course, occasionally, I’m not the only one sharing backstory with Mr. Mom.

Tonight while eating dinner at the Depot Cafe:

Father of one of my best friends (Jack):  Hey, Joan-Marie.  Didn’t you used to mess around with that fellow standing up there by the cash register?