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A package arrived in my mailbox recently. I cut open the end of the small, secure package, and the contents dumped out onto my bed. It was our latest check order.

"How odd," I thought to myself. Usually our check order arrives in a tiny box.

At first, I thought that this new way of sending checks was a security thing. Perhaps the check printing company was going with a new packaging that did not scream, "New Checks Are Here." Though that might be part of the reason for change, the note inside stated that this was to comply with new postal regulations.

Sliding out with the checks was a flattened box with instructions on how to assemble it. The simple task was accomplished within seconds.

Apparently, I, the consumer, will now have to make my own box if I want a container to store my checks. What used to be done by someone else now is passed down to the customer.

My first thought was that whoever used to assemble that box no longer had a job. It's possible that in our high-tech world, a computer-driven machine put the boxes together, but even machines have people watching them for quality assurance. Perhaps he or she was absorbed elsewhere within the company.

It's not that I mind putting the insignificant box together. In fact, I find assembling all sorts of things fascinating. I have always loved the challenge of following a sheet of directions that take you from point A to point B (if the instructions are written well), resulting in a sturdy, finished product.

It's even more of an adventure if the directions are not written well and you have to figure it out as you work. I've had many such adventures.

I remember when I was working at my first job as a cashier for Rite Aid drugstore. I loved setting up cardboard display cases. You know, the ones you accidentally hit with your shopping buggy as you round the aisles trying to maneuver through the store? I would open each carton and enjoy the challenge of figuring out exactly how the display should go. My managers usually would let me do this task because they saw how much I enjoyed it. They found my enthusiasm somewhat amusing.

I also remember a joy in putting together doll house furniture my parents bought me for Christmas one year. I had lots of tiny wooden pieces, foam, cloth, paints and stains, and a nice sheet of instructions showing and telling how each piece of furniture was to be put together.

I've bought shelves and tables, and toys that had to be assembled.

There is quite the adrenaline rush in knowing that there is something inside of one of those boxes waiting to be put together. Between two computer tables in our house, our TV table and assorted shelves and storage units, we have had our share of put-it-together-yourself projects here through the years.

Oh, and don't let me forget to mention assembling the kids' swing set many years ago.

I think every parent needs to put together at least one swing set. It is a rite of passage into parenthood unlike anything else. We made the assembly more exciting by putting the swing set together in the snow.

The enjoyment and excitement end, however, if we begin talking about putting together Barbie sets or Hot Wheel tracks. My eyes will glaze over if asked to take those blue and gray racing tracks and try to make sense of them. Give me a box of pressed wood, nails and fancy screws over tiny plastic pieces and stickers that never can be removed once in place.

My father was good at figuring out how to fix things and put them together. Many times, he put together items for my mother, my sister, my brother and me.

My 16-year-old son enjoys the task, as well. Last year, when we bought him a new tower CD holder, half the fun of the gift was that he was going to be able to put it together himself. His joy was my joy as I watched with pride knowing that the put-it-together-yourself gene had been handed down to him.

Apparently, the many years of various assembling projects prepared me for the task of putting together that tiny check box this morning. It took me 20 seconds flat to accomplish the task.

I am well-prepared if called upon once more to use these skills, even if it is only when I have to reconstruct another check box. I can only hope.

Linda Vestal is a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend living in Gibsonville. Contact her with comments or story ideas at lindavestal@triad.rr.com.