“Our body is a machine for living. It is organized for that, it is its nature. Let life go on in it unhindered and let it defend itself.” – Leo Tolstoy, Writer and Philosopher (1828 – 1910)
Historical Perspective
Quote of the Day
“Talent hits a target no one else can hit. Genius hits a target no one else can see.” – Arthur Schopenhauer – Philosopher (1788 – 1860)
Margaret Ann Neve
Look carefully at this photograph from 1902.
The elderly woman staring back at you was born in 1792—when George Washington was still President of the United States, when the guillotine was falling in Revolutionary France, and when the entire concept of photography wouldn’t be invented for another four decades.
Her name was Margaret Ann Neve, and she would become one of the most remarkable humans ever documented.
When Margaret entered the world on the island of Guernsey in 1792, King George III ruled Britain, Napoleon was a young military officer, and the 19th century hadn’t even begun. She grew up in a world lit by candlelight, traveled by horse and carriage, and communicated through handwritten letters that took weeks to arrive.
But Margaret wouldn’t just witness one century—she would conquer three.
As the decades rolled forward, Margaret watched the world transform around her in ways no generation before had ever experienced. She saw the Industrial Revolution reshape society. She witnessed the rise and fall of empires. She lived through the invention of the telegraph, the railroad, the telephone, and finally—remarkably—she sat still long enough to have her photograph taken.
Margaret didn’t spend those 110 years in isolation, quietly waiting for time to pass. She lived.
Alongside her sister Elizabeth, who herself would reach 98, Margaret traveled extensively across Europe—an extraordinary feat for women of their era. In 1872, when Margaret was already 80 years old, the sisters made their final grand journey together to Kraków, then a vibrant city in the Austro-Hungarian Empire.
Their mother had lived to 99. Longevity ran through their family like a genetic gift, but Margaret took it further than anyone could have imagined.
On April 4, 1903, Margaret Ann Neve passed away at 110 years and 321 days old. When she died, she held two records that seemed almost mythical: she was the first verified woman ever to reach 110 years of age, and only the second person in recorded history to do so.
But her most astonishing achievement? Margaret Ann Neve remains the first documented human being to have lived in three different centuries.
Think about that for a moment. She was born in the 1700s, lived through the entire 1800s, and made it into the 1900s. She began life in the Age of Enlightenment and ended it in the Age of Innovation.
When she was born, people traveled by horse. When she died, they were on the verge of flying.
Margaret’s story is more than a footnote in record books—it’s a window into the breathtaking pace of human progress. It reminds us that a single lifetime can span worlds, that one person can serve as a living bridge between eras we think of as impossibly distant from each other.
Her photograph, taken just a year before her death, captures something profound: a woman who saw everything change, yet remained herself throughout it all.
Margaret Ann Neve didn’t just survive 110 years.
She witnessed the birth of the modern world—and carried the memory of one that no longer exists.
Exercise Stimulates Autophagy
Quote of the Day
“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.” Pierre Teilhard de Chardin – Philosopher (1881 – 1955)
What Is Your Seat 13?
At 5:45 a.m. on Route 12, Hank Carter noticed something that changed everything: wet footprints trailing from seat thirteen.
The 57-year-old bus driver had just returned from winter break when a boy climbed aboard late, hoodie up, backpack sagging. The smell hit Hank immediately—yesterday’s shirt, unwashed. He knew it from his own childhood. When the boy stood at school, his socks had bled snowmelt through broken sneakers, leaving a dark stain on the vinyl.
The next morning, Hank arrived early with a brown paper bag: granola bar, milk box, hand warmers, dollar-store socks. He taped a note to it—”For whoever needs it. No questions”—and left it on seat thirteen.
By the final stop, the bag was gone. Folded neat under the seat.
That January morning became a daily ritual. Some days the bag sat untouched. Other days it vanished by the third stop, replaced with notes pressed so hard the pencil nearly tore through: “You saved my morning.” “These socks hug my feet.”
Then something unexpected happened. A girl with perfect hair left chapstick in the bag. A quiet kid added colored pencils. The depot custodian started bringing Ziplocs of cereal. “I remember being fifteen and hungry enough to eat paper,” he told Hank.
In March, fifth-grader Jayden boarded with red eyes, reached for the bag, then stopped. At the last stop, he grabbed it and tapped a smaller kid wearing a cast and a coat two sizes too thin.
“Here,” Jayden said. “It’s for you.”
Hank’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel.
By April, the offerings multiplied. Hot cocoa packets. A bus pass. One note in cursive read: “My son used this seat last month. He’s sleeping better now. Thank you for seeing him.”
On the last day of school, Hank stood and faced the rowdy bus. “Seat thirteen belongs to all of us,” he said, voice shaking. “In the fall, if you need it, it’s yours. If you don’t, help me keep it full.”
They nodded like they understood the rules.
Every August since, Hank packs that bag before dawn. New faces board. The same seat waits. At 6:12 a.m., small hands pass brown paper bags without words. A seat no one owns becomes a promise everyone keeps.
When asked why he does it, Hank shrugs. “You don’t need a program to change a life. You just need a place, a habit, and courage to leave something behind.”
Seat thirteen stays full. So do the kids who need it.
It’s Your Life- How Will You Use It Well?
In the summer of 1958, a young photographer named Art Kane had an idea that seemed almost impossible: gather the greatest jazz musicians in the world for one picture. Somehow, he did it.
Fifty-seven legends—Count Basie, Thelonious Monk, Dizzy Gillespie, Sonny Rollins, and so many more—stood together on a Harlem sidewalk. They weren’t posing stiffly. They were laughing, chatting, leaning on each other. It was just a morning, just a photograph. But it became known as A Great Day in Harlem.
Decades later, in 1996, a handful of survivors gathered again on that same block. The brownstone was still there. The spirit was still there. But most of the faces were missing—gone to time, remembered only in music and memory.
When you see those two photographs side by side, it’s more than history. It’s a reminder. Life moves fast. People slip away. But the love we give, the art we create, the joy we share—those echoes last far longer than we do.
Fifty years from now, most of us won’t be here. But today, we are.
So let’s use it well. Let’s forgive. Let’s laugh. Let’s love—before the moment fades.
Being There For Them
Today, I did a little experiment. I sat quietly in the corner while my boys played and kept a tally of how many times they looked at me.
Not for answers. Not for help. Just to see if I was watching.
Twenty-eight times.
Twenty-eight times they looked to see if I saw their cool tricks.
Twenty-eight times they searched my face for approval.
Twenty-eight times they checked to see if I was proud, if I was listening, if I was there.
And I couldn’t help but wonder… what if I had been glued to a screen? What message would I have sent?
That a notification was more important than them?
That the World Wide Web mattered more than their world right in front of me?
Twenty-eight times they would have felt overlooked.
Twenty-eight times they would have questioned their worth.
Twenty-eight times they would have learned that who you are online is what really matters.
But it doesn’t.
In a world obsessed with followers, likes, and filtered versions of reality, our kids need us to show them something different. They need us to show up. To put down the phone. To look them in the eyes and remind them: You matter more than any screen ever will.
Because they’re watching. Always. And the message we send shapes the adults they’ll become.
So tonight, put it down. Be present. Love out loud.
[Brandie Wood]
We Teach Kids…
…and artists and plumbers and sparkies and chippies and… …in fact respecting everyone and valuing each for what they are and do is a good way to change the world.