Since Michael Jackson’s death a few months ago, Lydia has become an ardent fan of his music. The other night she was watching some “Top 40 of the 80s” show on VH-1, in hopes of seeing a number of his videos, and every time I passed through the living room I took the opportunity to sing along and give my groove thang a little shake.

Whenever she noticed me, she seemed surprised that I knew whatever song it was that was playing, and after the fourth or fifth song, she asked in amazement, “How many songs do you know?” Um, yeah … when we’re talking “Top 40 of the ’80s,” the answer is going to be “pretty much all of them.”

I was bopping along to “Walking on Sunshine” when she turned to me and said wistfully, “I wish I lived in the ’80s.” I gave a wry little laugh of acknowledgment as she turned back to the TV and continued longingly, “Wasn’t it fun?”

“I don’t know,” I told her. “I guess.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “They had such cool clothes.”