Madam Tenkoukou Sonoda

The printed schedule for the Ikebana program suggested the Norway Ambassador's wife would speak for 90 minutes. When she wrapped up her remarks in an hour I was not complaining. Except for the time a guy rolled giant moss-covered balls around the stage while rock music reverberated through the room, the program is not my favorite part of Ikebana meetings. From my perspective, enduring the programs is the price I pay for the pleasure of feasting my eyes on an eclectic group of Japanese women, for the thrill of the raffle, and for the challenge of maintaining a pleasant, or at the very least mildly civilized, expression on my face while trying to swallow any morsel of foodstuff I manage to juggle between my chopsticks long enough to cover the distance between plate and mouth. So when Anita Pratap finished answering questions, I was glancing around for the bento boxes and missed the introduction of Madam Tenkoukou Sonoda. Instead of bento boxes, I saw a hundred pairs of eyes riveted on the front of the room. Being a quick study, I followed suit and immediately let out a semi-genteel squeal of delight.

Sonoda-san is nothing short of adorable. Have you ever felt the urge to hug a total stranger? This happens to me often at the Anpanman Museum when I am tripping over cute toddlers but normally I can control myself in adult situations. One glimpse of this feisty 91-year old teeny-tiny spitfire provoked a response I am still trying to comprehend days later. Nostalgia? Maternal instinct? Love at first sight?

Then she opened her mouth and didn't talk, speak, lecture so much as rain oratory. Her words echoed off the walls and ceiling and poured around and between her attentive listeners. This little lady could drown in her own charisma.

The first year women were elected to serve in the Japanese government shortly after World War II, Sonoda was one of them. Today, at the age of 91, she has pledged to devote the rest of her life to achieving peace on earth. The sheer force of her personality washed every usual cynical or sarcastic remark from my mind. This is what it must feel like to have your mouth washed out by Niagara Falls.

I have a theory. Perhaps Sonoda is the love child of Yoda and my great-grandmother, Allie Palmer Waltz. I have not seen a diminutive stature paired so delightfully with a commanding presence since we buried my Grandma Crippen.

And that, Ancient Mariner, is the best explanation I can come up with for how we came to contribute 1000 yen toward the construction of a doll museum in Kyushu.