“Welcome. Welcome all.

“I am here today to tell you that our new mailbox is up – standing tall and firm ... and level.” (Cue royal trumpets.)

“I proudly stand before you today as a handyman.” (Pause for cheering and arm waving.)

OK. Let’s brake there. I wanted to give you a feel for the last few days since I put up a mailbox. By myself. That’s right.

This earned me a steak dinner from my wife, who shared photos with family and friends, with these kind words:

“Kudos to my hubby for replacing our ancient mailbox with something much nicer! Our old wooden one was original to the house, so 40-plus years old. The door wouldn’t stay open and a bird was trying to nest in it! It took two days, a new post, a new post hole digger and a bag of Sakrete, but he did it! My writer/poet husband hates these kinds of projects, but he persevered!”

Mostly true, especially my attitude. It took much longer than two days if you count the years I pledged, “This year I hire someone to put up a new box.”

Deep down in my guilty conscious I thought I could do it myself. But it involved digging, and leveling, cement stuff and, well you know, work. Plus all such tasks equal bleeding knuckles, muscle cramps and profanity.

And ... do-overs, when instructions tell me to go left ... but I go right. So I take apart whatever and do over. ( The mailbox was no exception.)

So my plan was to hire someone to do the job once my wife found a mailbox she’d allow.

She chose a gorgeous golden-copper box with an ornamental post, a flower box on the backside and a solar light cap on top. (The “post” is a plastic mold that slides over a wooden post anchored in the ground.)

The post already in the ground was leaning south a bit but enough to claim ugly. I think if I dig a bit and edge that post north it will be level. Then I’d slide on our new black beauty.

So I dug a little and gave that post a little nudge. It toppled, broken. Thus began Day 1. (Sometimes proud moments are thrust upon us.)

There was no profanity (noteworthy) as I swallowed reality. This was Thursday. Mail was coming Friday. I had to do it myself.

I’ll skip the do-overs in this tired tale and jump to the happy ending proudly displayed on social media.

Still, I remain uneasy. I check each morning to see if it’s still standing. I was half serious with that handyman reference. I don’t claim that title with any confidence.

I must say, though, I put up a majestic structure. My wife chose the Taj Mahal of mailboxes. I fear our taxes will go up. Especially if we turn this spectacular container into a Bed and Breakfast.

But really … let me be the one to applaud and cheer. I know it’s never as easy as it looks. To all the real handymen (and women) in the world, let me echo my wife’s words of praise.

Kudos! Kudos! Kudos! (And, hey, send me your business cards.)

• Lonny Cain, retired managing editor of The Times in Ottawa, also was a reporter for The Herald-News in Joliet in the 1970s. His PaperWork email is lonnyjcain@gmail.com. Or mail The Times, 110 W. Jefferson St., Ottawa, IL 61350.