﻿<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?><rss xmlns:itunes="http://www.itunes.com/dtds/podcast-1.0.dtd" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" version="2.0"><channel><ttl>60</ttl><title>BLOG.GLOBALGUITAR.NET</title><link>http://blog.globalguitar.net</link><lastBuildDate>Mon, 28 May 2012 03:11:55 GMT</lastBuildDate><pubDate>Mon, 28 May 2012 03:11:55 GMT</pubDate><language>en</language><copyright /><itunes:subtitle> </itunes:subtitle><itunes:author /><itunes:summary /><description /><itunes:owner><itunes:name /><itunes:email>bobtunes@comcast.net</itunes:email></itunes:owner><itunes:explicit>no</itunes:explicit><itunes:category text="Arts" /><item><title>In memory of my Mom</title><link>http://blog.globalguitar.net/2010/05/18/in-memory-of-my-mom.aspx?ref=rss</link><dc:creator>BOB FALKENSTEINS'  BLOG</dc:creator><description>&lt;p style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: calibri;"&gt;Mom was great.  She was loving, caring and she had a special kind of radar that didn't let me get away with nothing.  And she could give me that "look" when I was pushing it.  She loved to sing.  Oh man she loved to sing.  I remember as a child when my Dad would pull out the accordion and she and her sister Donna  and my uncle Clayton would sing "You are my sunshine"  and a host of other songs.  Then when my brother Jimmy would pull out his guitar and Dad on his and when I learned, me with mine, we would have fantastic sing-a-longs. Those were special times.  My  Moms love of singing continued for as long as she was able to sing, nearly right up to the end. In her later years she would go and sing Karaoke, I never imagined she could do that, but she did.  That is how much she loved it.  She also loved to dance.  She and my Dad could really tear up the floor when the music was going good. Mom  also made the absolute BEST  Chocolate chip cookies EVER!  Dad said she always cooked so good because she always added love to her cooking, and I know  that to be true.  She added love to everything.  Mom and my Dad had a wonderful 52 years of marriage and when Dad retired, they traveled.  They went on cruises, bought a motor home and saw the country.  She loved traveling, and she loved her home.  It was never just a house where Mom was.  It was a home.  She could do so much to brighten a place up.  She had a real gift. She loved her kids, stepkids, grandchildren and great grandchildren.  And she loved her dog "Gizmo" too.   Mom, I love you (I know you can hear me) and I will miss you.  Thanks for everything Mom.  Thanks for everything.  I love you.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: calibri;"&gt;With love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: calibri;"&gt;Bob&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</description><comments>http://blog.globalguitar.net/2010/05/18/in-memory-of-my-mom.aspx#Comments</comments><guid isPermaLink="false">f897fe6a-8fb8-4ca2-a697-f251d1ed92a1</guid><pubDate>Tue, 18 May 2010 23:57:00 GMT</pubDate></item><item><title>Jack London quote</title><link>http://blog.globalguitar.net/2009/03/21/jack-london-quote.aspx?ref=rss</link><dc:creator>BOB FALKENSTEINS'  BLOG</dc:creator><description>&lt;FONT size=3&gt;Quote for the day....&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;"I would rather be ashes than dust! I would rather my spark burn out in a brilliant blaze than be stifled by dry rot. I would rather be a meteor, every atom of me in magnificent glow, than a sleepy, permanent planet. The proper function of man is to live, not to exist. I shall not waste my days. I shall use my time." - Jack London, 1876-1916&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;Jack London wrote some great books.&amp;nbsp; I remember my Dad reading "Call of the wild" to me as a child.&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;Be Whole&lt;BR&gt;Bob&lt;BR&gt;&lt;A href="http://www.globalguitar.net"&gt;www.globalguitar.net&lt;/A&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;/FONT&gt;</description><comments>http://blog.globalguitar.net/2009/03/21/jack-london-quote.aspx#Comments</comments><guid isPermaLink="false">4bfa07b6-7786-4c55-9931-5b2c379ee7c6</guid><pubDate>Sun, 22 Mar 2009 04:02:00 GMT</pubDate></item><item><title>Ghosts in the wall sockets</title><link>http://blog.globalguitar.net/2009/03/15/ghosts-in-the-wall-sockets.aspx?ref=rss</link><dc:creator>BOB FALKENSTEINS'  BLOG</dc:creator><description>&lt;h2  class="date-header"&gt; &lt;/h2&gt;</description><category>poems</category><comments>http://blog.globalguitar.net/2009/03/15/ghosts-in-the-wall-sockets.aspx#Comments</comments><guid isPermaLink="false">b03cce55-1d8c-4892-9841-24cfa3d85d11</guid><pubDate>Sun, 15 Mar 2009 21:03:00 GMT</pubDate></item><item><title>The oddity of memory</title><link>http://blog.globalguitar.net/2009/03/15/the-oddity-of-memory.aspx?ref=rss</link><dc:creator>BOB FALKENSTEINS'  BLOG</dc:creator><description>&lt;P&gt;It's odd the things that can bubble up out of nowhere.&amp;nbsp; I may&amp;nbsp;not remember&amp;nbsp;what I had for lunch yesterday, but I can remember a poem from a MAD magazine that I read when I was but a child...and that was long ago.&amp;nbsp; The poem?&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&lt;BR&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &lt;BR&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; "The other day upon the stair&lt;BR&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I saw a man who wasn't there&lt;BR&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; He wasn't there again today&lt;BR&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; I think he's from the CIA."&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;I don't remember what year or issue it was (if you know, tell me!), but I have the poem firmly tucked away.&amp;nbsp; &lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;Bob&lt;BR&gt;www.globalguitar.net&lt;BR&gt;"Make your life your art and paint it with intention."&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;&lt;/P&gt;</description><comments>http://blog.globalguitar.net/2009/03/15/the-oddity-of-memory.aspx#Comments</comments><guid isPermaLink="false">9cabe712-b228-4238-9c2b-9be0ebcee252</guid><pubDate>Sun, 15 Mar 2009 18:41:00 GMT</pubDate></item><item><title>Watch what you say</title><link>http://blog.globalguitar.net/2009/02/09/watch-what-you-say.aspx?ref=rss</link><dc:creator>BOB FALKENSTEINS'  BLOG</dc:creator><description>&lt;P&gt;A lyric from "Watch what you say":&amp;nbsp; "...A word is a breath and it don't weigh nothing, but it can carry a lot of weight."&amp;nbsp; What we say can effect others in many ways, often in unintended ways.&amp;nbsp; What we say is not always what is heard.&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; As far as what others say to us, an insult&amp;nbsp; for example (intended or not) we can choose how to react to it.&amp;nbsp; We can accept or reject what is said.&amp;nbsp; Much in the same way a gift is presented to us.&amp;nbsp; If we refuse the gift (insult), who is left holding it?&amp;nbsp; You can choose to be offended or not.&amp;nbsp; So, pay attention to what you say AND pay attention to what others say,&amp;nbsp;and be discerning.&lt;BR&gt;&lt;BR&gt;"Make your life your art and paint it with intention."&lt;BR&gt;Bob&lt;BR&gt;&lt;A href="http://www.globalguitar.net"&gt;www.globalguitar.net&lt;/A&gt;&lt;/P&gt;</description><comments>http://blog.globalguitar.net/2009/02/09/watch-what-you-say.aspx#Comments</comments><guid isPermaLink="false">70389a66-4eaa-4c89-8dc3-b108894ecb31</guid><pubDate>Mon, 09 Feb 2009 09:43:00 GMT</pubDate></item></channel></rss>
