June 1987…
Terrence Lee posing in front of the Carlsborg Store 1987
Jeanne Stevenson Carlsborg Store shopkeeper 1978-2000
June 1987. My sister was graduating high school. Our dad (photographed here) drove up to Sequim from central California for the occasion. Afterwards, he and I would continue on together. An epic summer road trip expedition that would take us exploring around the western states. I was about to turn 13 years old.
I grew up just a few houses down the street from the Carlsborg Store. A childhood spent buying penny candies, playing butt ball against the side of the building and roaming free at the mill pond with the other latchkey Carlsborg kids.
But on this particular day, with my dad in tow, we walked to the store for a treat. Blissfully unaware that the following story would have such impact on a future version of myself.
It was quiet in there that afternoon. Jeanne Stevenson, who had owned the Carlsborg Store since 1978, was stoically poised behind the counter as she did, looking up from her crossword and greeting us with her familiar “Hi Hon.” as we entered. I introduced my father and while I began making important decisions between Charleston’s Chews and Chick-O-Sticks they engaged in small talk.
As expected this eventually led to a “Where are you from?” conversation. “We came from California too” she said, “Oh, small suburb you probably have never heard of..” I continued browsing.
As their engagement and my eavesdropping continued, Jeanne mentioned that their family was originally from Sunland Tujunga. A neighborhood on the outskirts of Los Angeles. A bit surprised, my Pops described growing up in Sunland on Mather Avenue in the 1950s. “Mather Ave.?” Jeanne exclaimed, “That’s the street we lived on..”
In a turn of events that I will never be able to fully grasp, especially in my current shopkeeper reality, we discovered that Jean and her family lived on the same block as my grandparents in the mid-late 1950’s. She remembered my dad’s mom by name. Her children along with my dad and uncles sharing their own mid-century Southern California suburbia childhood experience together.
At the time it seemed like a strange coincidence. They reminisced for a minute, we paid for our items and continued on our journeys. Minds temporarily blown but then soon to be filled with new experiences. A much younger version of myself never followed up. I never asked my grandmother about it and even though Jeanne and I continued to have conversations and connections for another decade + I don’t believe we ever discussed it again.
Very recently I connected with Jeanne’s daughters. I wanted to confirm that the details I remembered as a youngster were actually true. They were, and even richer than I could’ve imagined. We shared pictures. Sue remembered names, though my dad’s little brother no longer goes by Duggie. Was that my grandmother that carried Vickie back to her house after the tricycle vs. tree incident? The stories continue to unravel. Not just this one but potentially everyone’s if we’re willing to engage. Maybe it’s a small world after all but it’s also an intricately woven network of interconnectedness that when nourished yields an infinite bounty of commonalities and unifying shared experiences for all of us.
Whether this event shaped the choices I would make or my destiny was previously written may never be known. All I know is that is that in this chapter of my life I have been uniquely blessed and grateful for the opportunity to honor this sentiment and the stories of those who came before.
With Father’s Day on the horizon I thought I would share this picture of my Pops. Taken by me just before we walked into the Carlsborg Store on that day. Now extremely thankful that he always was and continues to be a ‘Kodak Moment’ man at heart.
