November 1, 2011--Sticker Shock

No map was required. Without consulting our GPS, I knew where we were and where we were headed.

We needed gas and pulled off at the first exit in Connecticut. There was a Mobil station and a Citgo. Good, I thought, since there's local competition we won't get taken advantage of.

How wrong I was.

"Can you believe it," Rona said, "We've been up in Maine too long. Regular here--at both places--is $3.96 a gallon. What were we paying in Waldoboro?"

"Recently," I tried to remember, "I think about $3.48."

"Indeed. Let's drive on. It's only a couple of dollars more to fill up the tank, but I hate to feel like a victim."

And so we did. Though the snow was approaching, we tried the next two exits but it was the same story.

"It's a high tax state, Connecticut," Rona said. "We need gas but have no choice." And so we filled up.

The snow intensified and we realized we couldn't get much closer to the city than Waterbury where we felt fortunate to find a room--the last one--at a Holiday Inn. It was fine. They had a dinner buffet and we loaded up on chicken marsala and penne. Especially penne. Carbohydrate packing seemed like a good idea since we were expecting to lose power and maybe get stranded for an extra day until the roads were clear.

We hardly noticed how much it was per person. I was curious, though, and asked Rona who had paid the bill. "Don't ask," she said. "Just be happy we have a room, the power's still on, and we have enough food in our bodies to get us through at least two days."

So I didn't pursue it, but I knew it must have been well over $20 each if Rona was reluctant to tell me. Again, while we were in Maine we had become used to eating out where even a steak dinner was usually less than $20.

The next morning we still had electricity and the hotel was serving breakfast. There was well over a foot of snow on the ground and we again thought we should have a hearty breakfast to help get us through the clean up--we had to dig out our car--and the still long drive to New York.

Again there was a buffet. A very modest one with overcooked scrambled eggs, bacon, dry cereal, and some melon that tasted more like potatoes than fruit. But, again, we felt, fortunate to be warm, dry, and fed and were not about to be disappointed much less complain. We are not as yet that spoiled. We knew that many in the area were without power and would be lucky to have anything for breakfast.

This time I paid the bill and was a little shocked to see that it was $30 plus tax--$15 each. "You know how hotels are," Rona said in an attempt to keep me feeling as good as the circumstances would allow, and so I forgot about the cost and turned my attention to getting the snow off the car and us back on the road.

"Let's take a couple of yogurts with us. From the buffet. Who knows if there will be any place to get a snack. I'm sure the hotel won't mind."

"I don't know," Rona said. "I'm sure they don't want people taking food with them. It's all you can eat. Not all you can put in your pocket."

"But at $15 dollars each, I think . . ."

"Please, enough about the cost of things. We can afford whatever it costs. Be thankful for that. Think about all the people who are waking up this morning in the cold and dark. And . . ."

"You're right. I'm being silly."

"Actually, worse than silly." She was right and I headed for the parking lot and our buried car.

We got to New York without too many incidents. The had done a remarkable job clearing I-84 and all it's entrance and exit ramps. But there were still trees along the way that were so ladened with snow that some crashed onto the highway and we had at times to thread our way through. A few cars driving to fast spun out into the guard rails but no one thankfully appeared to be injured. We took our time and were fine.

Once in Manhattan there was little evidence that there had been a record-breaking snowfall, though many trees in Central Park had apparently been uprooted. But the roadways and sidewalks were clear and dry. Nothing like central Connecticut.

We unloaded and parked the car and were eager to have an early dinner.

Everything was familiar and open. "This is one good thing about Manhattan" I said. "I hate the busy streets and the crazy traffic but shop and restaurant workers are intrepid and it takes more than a little snow to shut them down."

"Listen to you. You're back for two hours and already think about what's going on as 'a little snow.' You really are spoiled."

"Including when it comes to the price of a bowl of soup?"

"What are you talking about?"

We were walking on 9th Street toward our favorite local Japanese restaurant and passed an English pub that listed it's specials on a chalkboard. "Today they have lentil soup."

Rona looked back to see what I was referring to. "I can't read it. But I'm not in the mood for lentil soup. I want some miso soup and sushi."

"Me too. But my point is how much they're charging for it." Rona picked up the pace. She had clearly had it with my concern about the cost of things. "I know you're not interested but it's $9.50. For a bowl of lentil soup!"

I of course was expecting that our usual sushi lunch would no longer be $14.95 but at least $20. I was pleasantly surprised to notice that in the five months we had been away it was now "only" $16.95. "Not bad," I said, getting used to the inflation and cost of things.

Though she knew what I meant, Rona ignored me and dipped into her soup. Which was still included in the price of the sushi.

After a wonderful lunch we thought it a good idea to go the nearby Gristedes to stock up on basics--bottled water, some fruit and cheese, and yogurt. Especially yogurt, which for both of us on most days constitutes lunch. Later in the week we would make a more extensive list so that we could do a little cooking and not be so dependent on restaurants.

"Look at this," Rona said, clearly agitated, "Can you believe it?" She was standing by the dairy chest. I was down the aisle looking for my 5-ingredient chocolate Häagen-Dazs ice cream and turned to join her. "I'm now sorry I didn't let you take the yogurt from the breakfast buffet."

"You hate when I suggest doing that sort of thing." I knew where this was headed and enjoyed playing along.

"How much was a Dannon yogurt at Hannaford's in Damariscotta?"

"The last time we bought them I think 79 cents."

"Exactly," Rona said with considerable passion. "And how much do you think they are here?"

"I recall that when we were here in May about 99 cents."

"And now? Take a look." She tugged me closer to her.

I bent toward the price sticker on the shelf and was by then not surprised to see that they cost $1.39 each.

"I rest my case," Rona said.

What case might that be I wondered.