Every time I come to Washington Island something insane happens back in Chicago. Last time, the paper where I had (mostly) happily worked for years got sold–an event that led, in due time, to me not having a job and, ultimately, to winding up back on Washington Island this summer. This time, the play I’ve been working on all spring (and, actually, much of last spring as well), which has been chugging along in a long and respectable, if not wildly financially renumerative run that began in early April, has suddenly, surprisingly, astonishingly been tapped by some New Yorker producer-types. Long story, short: we were planning on closing the show forever June 29; now it looks like we’re gonna pack up the truck and reopen at the Barrow Street Theatre in the West Village on July 9.

It’s all very exciting, and a little crazymaking–if less so for me since unlike the actors I’m not looking at an entire summer of unanticipated Brooklyn couch-surfing; I’ll only be there a week or so to get the show up and running. But, still. This all went down as I was maniacally crossing things off my list, finding my cat a glamorous South Loop summer home, getting the car fixed, stocking up on decent wine, cleaning the house (maybe I skipped that part), and staying up till five in the morning more nights than I should probably admit (hi, mom).

Now I’m here, in the land of limited internet and skittish cell service, trying to make travel plans. The most reliable wi-fi spot on the island is the public library, the hours of which are themselves a little erratic–Mon/Wed/Fri in the afternoon; Tue/Thu in the am for about four hours a pop each day. Luckily the signal carries to the parking lot, fast becoming my favorite place on this hunk of rock. On any given evening you can find a half-dozen islanders, teenagers and old-timers alike, sprawled on the grass or the hoods of their cars–or just hunkered down in the cab of the pickup, the only light a telltale blue glow bouncing off their chins–all seeking to reach out and touch the rest of the world. Or at least figure out if Southwest flies to LaGuardia.