In those days I could stand, invisible, behind a twig or a tall - growing milkweed and at just the right moment dash like a frightened gazelle to slap my hand on home base, safely arriving a split second before the goalkeeper.
For years I wondered why we shouted "Ollie, Ollie Enfrey" when it was time to give up and let the successful hiders come in.
Along the way, after I became too fat to hide behind a weed and too burdened to glide gracefully like a gazelle, I came to understand that we were kids learning the lingo of a carnival barker or a ballpark popcorn vendor. We were hollering out a variation of "all in free." I haven't thought of those days and the magic moments for a long time.
While admiring some beautiful colors and leaves in back of the palace I grabbed my camera to capture the glory. And there was Rosie, a pretty girthy girl herself, camouflaged as a birch tree, peering through the flaming foliage, hoping to hear "OLLIE, OLLIE ENFREY."
Once she knew she was outed it was a race of the fatsoes to get home free.
I'm not saying who got back first, but even if Rosie beat me, I have some wonderful memories, whipped cream on pumpkin pie, from that silly little afternoon moment.