Independently Speaking By Brent Olson

Lid

Sunday night I ended my weekend six minutes behind schedule because our old stove was 33 inches wide.

Let me explain. We used to have an older commercial stove in our kitchen that we’d bought used out of the back room of a restaurant supply store. It was a great stove. The best feature was that there was literally nothing I couldn’t fix myself. Really. It was only about two steps in sophistication above a campfire.

The only problem was that it had standing pilot lights, which meant every moment of every day there were seven little propane fires burning in our kitchen — 6 burners and the oven. 

Not the end of the world, but over the years it started to feel a little wasteful, particularly in the summer when we had to run the stove hood 24 hours a day to keep the house from overheating.

In our search for a new stove, we could not find any possibilities anywhere that were the same width. That meant we ended up buying a regular-size stove, which left an inch and a half gap on either side, which I have not yet filled in.

I will. I just haven’t yet. And, just so you know, I have no desire to be judged. Furthermore, if I ever invite you to my home and your first words are, “Why is there an enormous gap on either side of your stove?” our friendship is in peril.

Anyway, Sunday night I was in need of sustenance. I noticed a jar of salsa on the kitchen counter and remembered there was a smattering of corn chips in the cupboard. This seemed like a solution to my hunger problem. Not only would I not need to cook, I wouldn’t even need to sit down. A perfect way to coast to the finish line on a Sunday.

I had a few chips dipped in salsa, and then, because I am a tidy person who believes in moderation, I began to put everything away. I had no trouble returning the chips to the cupboard, but as I was putting the lid on the salsa, it slipped out of my hand, hit my foot, landed on the floor, and rolled 13 1/2 feet to the one inch gap between the stove and the kitchen cabinet. It didn’t stop until it got all the way to the wall and bounced off the gas line.

I couldn’t believe it. I could spend the next three years trying to roll a salsa lid the length of our kitchen and I wouldn’t be able to recreate that move.

I tried to retrieve it but couldn’t reach it. Truthfully, I didn’t even try. I know how long my arms are and I know how much work it would be to kneel down and then stand back up again. I saw a bread knife on the counter, but when I examined the geometry of the situation, I decided that wouldn’t reach either. I pondered the vagaries of an unfriendly universe for a few seconds, and then I started searching for something slender and about four feet long. I found a broom and thought, “Why not?” I reversed it and on the third try snaked the lid right out.

This did not solve my problem. I now had the salsa lid, but it had been under the stove. In addition to the probable dust, psychic contamination was a problem. It might not have looked dirty, but it felt dirty. I mean, a lot of stuff can accumulate under a stove, and much of it you wouldn’t want to put near your mouth. There was a point in my life where I would have looked over my shoulder to see if there were witnesses to guide my actions, depending on their presence or absence. That ship has sailed; I am far more mature now. I took the lid to the sink and spent, oh, about six minutes cleaning and disinfecting it.

Then I quit for the day.

Copyright 2025 Brent Olson