On cherry-dipped cones and being forever young

Alicia Ann Daw is a film & digital wedding photographer who specializes in New York City and European destination weddings. With over 15 years of experience photographing weddings, she's spent two decades globetrotting to over 37 countries and working with clients around the world. She delivers images that are effortlessly romantic and chic, telling a story about the start of your heritage in a way that will leave you in awe.


It is inevitable. Every time I get that ice cream cone, it happens. “Medium vanilla, cherry-dipped, please.” That was what I ordered, as I always do, when I got up to the window at Dairy Queen yesterday. The girl on the other side of the window looked like she would have been happier being at any other place in the world beside there. Nevertheless, she pulled that lever down until it piled my soft serve ice cream high, and then dipped it in that red gooey stuff. Delightful. As much as I try to keep things neat, though, it always seems to happen that when I am eating my cherry-dipped cone, I drop some on my lap.

There is just something about those cherry dipped cones that remind me of my childhood.

When I was a kid, we used to go camping with my grandparents who had a seasonal site at a place call Hidden Acres. It was absolutely one of my favorite places in the world to go to. We would wake up early in the morning and after grandpa made us pancakes on the grill (yes, pancakes on the grill), we would be off for a day of adventure. Sometimes that day would include fishing on the lake. Sometimes it would be a daring feat of jumping rocks across the river. Sometimes it would be spying on all the teenagers who would go deep into the woods to smoke their cigarettes. But regardless of what we did, it was always fun. And that is why we just loooooved going to Hidden Acres.

But my favorite part of going camping with Grandpa and Grandma was the ride home. Without fail, every time we would head home, they would stop at the local Dairy Queen and let us get whatever we wanted. And without fail, every time we went there, I would get a cherry-dipped cone. And without fail, every time I would get one, I would drop some on my lap.

20-something years later, I still order a cherry-dipped cone almost every time I go to Dairy Queen. And 20-something years later, I still drop some on my lap. I guess something never change. 🙂

Here’s to cherry-dipped cones and to being forever young!

(PS- Rod Stewart is my lifelong celebrity crush. Unfortunately, I was never able to see him in concert, so instead I resort to spending an ungodly amount of time watching YouTube videos of him singing live)

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