There is an old wives' tale that says when a lightbulb blows out, it means there's a spirit in the room. It's something to do with the spirit's energy... I guess it's supposed to be like a power surge. I don't know. I do know, however, that after my father died, my entire family blew a lot of lightbulbs. A lot. I even had an electrician come into our house to make sure we didn't have something wrong with our wiring. It was bizarre. It was also kind of cool. I felt like my dad was there with me... and I really needed that.
It happened for quite a while, too, on and off. And yes, I know everyone blows bulbs... but there were times when the occurence was a little less like an old lightbulb and a little more like a 'Ghost Hunters' episode.
When my daughter and niece (both born a few months after my father died), were about three-years-old, they found these little bicentennial American flags that used to sit in a stand on my dad's desk. I should tell you that my dad was very patriotic and he was very, very careful about the way he treated the flag. It had to be flown, folded, and discarded properly, with reverence... always. Anyway, these little flags were attached to sticks with very pointy ends and I was afraid the girls were going to poke each others' eyes out, so I took them. Because they were old and because my mother had enough old stuff cluttering up the house, I asked, "Can I just throw these away?" She said yes. Just as I was (unceremoniously) dropping them into the trash can, she turned on the light... and the bulb sparked, crackled loudly, and blew out. Those flags were out of the garbage before my mother could even say my name, and I was whispering, "Sorry, Dad" as I put them back where the girls found them!
I haven't blown any lightbulbs in a long time. And let me tell you, I wouldn't mind having to replace a couple right about now.