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It's been lonely around the manor for the past three weeks. Miss Peggy, as she frequently does, ditched me for a younger man.

The younger man is 2-year-old Chase, our latest grandchild, and Miss Peggy has been accompanying his mama, Kim, on a getaway to Florida. While Kim soaks up the sun, Nana gets to soak up time with the kid.

Which leaves me alone, tending to hearth and home and to writing chores that can best be performed in my little alcove upstairs at the manor.

Friends ask me how I cope without the convenience and comfort of a woman around the place. Well, it's not all downside.

For three weeks, it has been MY place. I have been free to rearrange and reconfigure the furniture to my liking (within limits). I can shave, shower and groom in the master bathroom without interfering with anybody's primping and applying of makeup. If I leave the lid up, nobody fusses.

Making the bed is optional. If I choose to spend the night on the couch after Letterman puts me to sleep, nobody feels abandoned, and I don't feel exiled.

During prime time, I can skip "Law and Order," "CSI" and the other corpse-carving programs ("Cadavers Unlimited," I call them) and go to CNN or the History Channel or a PBS special. I can turn up the TV as loud as I wish (I've mislaid my hearing aids since she's been gone) and not worry about drowning out her telephone conversation with one of the kids. (A minimum of 40 percent of prime time is taken up by conversations with offspring from other states, via either telephone or Web camera. The kids can't go a full 24 hours without touching base with her voice or image. I try to keep up via closed captions, but the captions don't help when you're trying to hear Peter, Paul and Mary singing "Blowing In the Wind.")

Breakfast, lunch and dinner are no problems. I'm a passable cook, especially when I follow my favorite recipes. And the pantry and refrigerator are stocked with MY brands. If I want something that isn't there, I can take a quick trip to the food store, or I can duck into Skin Thrasher's for a hot dog, El Rancho Nuevo for a taco and enchilada, or Hunan's for some steamed dumplings.

If I want a swig of 7-Up or cranberry juice, I can drink it straight out of the bottle, since I'm the only one who'll be catching my germs.

I can shower before going to bed or I can wait till morning; it's up to me. If I choose to go a day without a shower, I can do so, though I won't like myself nearly as much the next day.

I can pick up my dirty clothes and socks or I can let them lie for another day. The dog likes to curl up on them, and when your dog is 15 years old and feeble, you tend to indulge her.

I get to work the Jumble, Cryptoquote AND crossword. Our local newspaper is a one-crossword rag, and I always leave it for her to work. She, in turn, lets me have first crack at the other puzzles.

Crossword puzzles, by the way, are a major reason for continuing to subscribe to the newspaper. You can probably find them online, but it's not the same. I love the challenge of working them with a ballpoint pen. Putting pen to paper provides a pleasure that putting fingers to a keyboard can never match. And you can take your newspaper into rooms where you wouldn't want to take a computer. I just wish somebody would invent a ballpoint pen that would continue working even while I'm propped up in bed. The ink tends to balk at traveling uphill or horizontally.

If I run short on socks and underwear, I can toss a load into the washer and, after drying them, dump them on the bed in the guest bedroom. I don't have to fold them neatly and stack them in a drawer. Why put them in a drawer when you're going to take them right back out and wear them? There's nobody to fuss about how untidy the guest bedroom looks with that stack of loose clothes in view.

I can sing as loud as I want in the morning without fear of waking anybody except the dog, who needs to rise early anyway to take care of her necessary business outdoors. I can play whatever I want on the stereo. I can listen to Satchmo and Ella in full confidence that nobody will interrupt them in mid-scat and put on Streisand. I can listen to Big Band all day, or I can hear Ivan Rebroff go all the way from soprano to bass in one long breath.

In the evening, if the weather is cool and clear, I can slap something on the grill and enjoy a beer while it sizzles.

Beer is a good companion. I don't feel lonely when sipping a beer in solitude. Wine is something else. When there's a glass of wine in front of you, there's supposed to be another glass across the table, in the hands of someone you love. Sipping wine without companionship is like reaching across the bed and feeling a cold pillow instead of a warm body.

I'm picking her up tomorrow and bringing her home. I've had enough of bachelorhood.

Write to Gene Owens at 315 Lakeforest Circle, Anderson SC 29625. E-mail: Swampscum2@aol.com