Arrgh!

Update: I found that dadratted garage door remote! ...Right where I'd left it, of course. Logical place, really, and if it had been a snake, it could've bit me on the upper arm, several times: it was in top of books on a bookshelf, quite handy for setting-down while stowing the motorcycle helmet and gloves.. /Update

The wheels fell off my day yesterday afternoon; at least it was only a metaphor. Started well enough -- slept in, scrambled up to a family cookout on the scooter, my longest trip of the season to date, and arrived back home a few hours later, half-dazed by a headache.

Fiddled around at Nothing Much and made ready to go get paint.

Incoming text from Nephew synchronicistally questions my choice of brand -- yeah, me, too; but it's what I have a chance of actually having time to get. Wasted some time on that, decided to leave the question open and just go buy primer, headed out to the garage and -- hey, where's my garage door opener?

Not only can I not find it, I don't remember having had the thing in the house. I thought I knew where it was (pocket of my summer-weight riding jacket), but it's not there.

Proceeded to turn garage and house upside down. It's nowhere. Kept looking. Nope. Looked some more; Tam helped. Nada.

Of course, by then the paint store was closed.... I found other things to do, hoping to stmble over the opener. Not!

Ended on a slightly better note: we had fireworks! So did the neighbors, for miles and miles around. Somebody, some distance off, had big stuff and there'd be a BOOOOM! every so often that you felt, interspersed with the pops and bangs and whistles of lesser amusements. Now there's a celebration!