Arriving downstairs at 9:00 a.m., Mom turns on the front foyer chandelier then hand surfs the walls on her way to her chair, switching on every ceiling light and desk lamp as she goes. It is as if she finds herself in a long dark hallway, flipping on lights a section at a time as she goes so that she can find her way to the next section and eventually her destination.  She seems oblivious to the unseen lights left on behind her—they have served their purpose and now simply to not exist in her consciousness.  Eventually her surfing surface ends and she settles heavily in her rocking recliner, encompassed by five burning desk lamps and 25 blazing recessed spot lights.  The brightness screams at me but seems to soothe her.  I much prefer the softness of natural window light, which we have in abundance, and enjoy shadow over direct beam.  On the days I am home, I routinely turn each light off as I follow her throughout the house (except those light she needs in her immediate vicinity).  Watching television becomes painful to my tired eyes as the room’s intense glare hits me from many directions and reflects off the dim screen.  Some days I just cannot endure the light, and inform Mom I need to turn some lights off and dim others down.  She relents.  I have urged her to turn the lights off in the unoccupied rooms, to save on the pricey power bill, and to practice a bit of conservation.  (We are recyclers, after all.)  But it is her house, and she pays the power bill.  One hallway lamp in particular I turn off as I pass by and she turns on as she passes by, and back and forth.  I quickly tire of the power struggle and let her win the game.  The light, she says, helps her see her needlepoint work.  And the brightness seems to help her feel cheery and less alone.  The brightness provides some physical compensation for the emotional isolation which is her new daily routine.  Just shy of 10:00 p.m., she reverses her routine, turning nobs and flipping off switches as she makes her nighttime circuit toward the chair lift and the upstairs and sleeping in the dark, buried head to toe under her blankets.