Among the topics seniors frequently discuss, "How things have changed" is a category that holds many a subject.

Take "How we dressed" as a sub-title. We wore "Sunday-go-to-meeting" clothes to church, complete with blocked hats of fiber or felt, and white gloves. My Mom insisted we wear Sabbath garb all day, even on picnics!

The photo album holds pictures of the family sitting primly around a card table in a bucolic setting, with white shoes and anklets tucked under the folding chairs.

"Company" arrived at the house dressed to the nines at any time of the day.

I have great nostalgia for elaborate theatre wardrobes. I had embroidered stockings and little fancy hats, often as spare as a bit of nose-depth netting spattered with rhinestones. I splurged on a black gabardine swing coat lined with rows of white eyelet ruffles. (It was marked way down at Loehmann's, New York's legendary clearance store.)

We dressed to go shopping, and were sure to remove our curlers, even to the supermarket.

Many department stores have lost their glamour. My first job was at John Wanamaker, a greystone building of Victorian grandeur in downtown Manhattan. An atrium ran from the main floor to the fifth. The voices of an organ and visiting choirs rose to every corner of the establishment. Deep, lush carpets cushioned every step.

I assisted my aunt, who was a Wanamaker personal shopper. Many loyal patrons wrote to Wanamaker's for everything they purchased, and we would do their shopping. We once completely outfitted a southern belle for her wedding! (A better option than Sears & Roebuck or Monkey Ward's)

During the holidays, a pianist sat at a grand piano in the employee's restaurant. He played requests for two hours daily. I once elbowed my way to his side to ask him to play a favorite of mine.

"Could you play 'Lorna Doone,'" I asked. He frowned, then smiled, confessing that he didn't know it. I was annoyed that I had wasted half my lunch hour in a vain attempt to get an illiterate pianist to play my tune. Back at my table, I remembered that the piece was called "Clair de Lune", not "Lorna Doone."

Wanamaker's, Lord & Taylor's, Bloomingdale's, Abraham & Straus, Gimbel's, Saks, Macy's"¦ were the "grand dames" of shopping emporiums. The first bargain stores opened their doors in the early 20th century.

Loehmanns certainly killed off the elegance of the department stores. Plain, rolling pipe racks filled a huge, noisy arena. The dressing room was a huge chamber with wooden benches running along the walls. Women in underwear stood guarding their selections as they tried them on. The ladies came in every body type: top-heavy, waistless, Twiggy, and pear-shape, to recall a few. Cries of discovery and angry quarrels bounced off the hard walls.

Today, I shop seated in a contoured chair, frequently in my pajamas. There's a snack bar a stone's throw away. I no longer hire a babysitter, nor is there a need to remove hair curlers. I shop at home, at the computer.

How shopping has changed!

Lorraine Lilja is a retired Press-Republican reporter. A collection of her columns, "Lilja's World," is for sale at local book stores. Lilja can be reached at llilja17@hotmail.com.