Monday Morning Church

I wanted to go to a mainstream class today in the history department, but due to incompetence/slow buses did not make it there in time. So instead I went to the neighboring Cathedral of the Holy Trinity again. And it was pretty empty, as whoever sings that song assures me that monday morning churches are, but not entirely; there was the odd babushka, and the odd tight-lipped woman coming in to consult with the batushka, who looked exactly like I imagined the youngest Karamazov brother as looking. And I took pictures, which someday when I remember my camera chord I will post. I sort of wanted to tell the earnest-looking women that they could save time by just buying the book in the little bookstore, "What will the Batushka Advise?" with an awful picture of a dark-bearded Rasputin-like priest on the front swinging some insense about.