Catherine Gigante-Brown

We’ve pieced ourselves back together in a patchwork quilt of ragged emotions. The aftermath of 9/11 wasn’t easy for us, yet it was much easier than for some. People standing 50 feet away from Peter didn’t come home that night; he did.

From New York to LA, this lady knows a good story.

raunchy renaissance woman. multimedia artist. probably a slut.

A new U.S. Preventive Services Task Force recommendation on mammograms ensures more women will die of breast cancer.

I saw my present mother-in-law in a whole new light the first time she held my newborn son.

herbalist. shiatsu practitioner. healer.

"Bring over a meal—and leave. Breakfast, lunch or dinner, from soup to nuts. And coffee. Plenty of coffee."

I sat obediently in her chair atop four ancient copies of the Yellow Pages. Crossing my fingers, I prayed Catholic schoolgirl prayers.

"Sometimes David wore his hair spiked like a cockscomb. Others, he wore it feathery like a baby chick. He wore his Mohawk to summer camp (exchanging encouraging head chucks with another older camper who sported one, too) and even to Vacation Bible School—no judgment there."

Makeup and I have always had a love/hate relationship: I love it; it hates me.