On the day of Yom Kippur, October 9, 2000, I was awakened by the ringing of the telephone at 5:15 in the morning…The conversation felt unreal. In my state of disbelief, I didn’t know what to say except to acknowledge my gratitude…Denise said, “Look, it’s so early. Why don’t you go back to sleep?” “Are you kidding?” I replied. “How can I possibly sleep?”…
The ceremony at the Stockholm Concert Hall was the most remarkable and memorable event of all…When I sat down, the Stockholm Philharmonic played the third movement of Mozart’s unsurpassed clarinet concerto. On this occasion the melodic solos, written for a Viennese temperament like mine, sounded even lovelier than usual…Denise and I had taken lessons to brush up on our limited and rarely practiced waltzing skills, but sadly, and to Denise’s unending disappointment, we didn’t get much of a chance to dance. As soon as dinner was over, we were approached by our friends, and I so enjoyed chatting with them that I found it hard to break away.