The household god was content for many years. It held pride of place in the garden, tended by its sole worshipper.
Then the worshipper passed, and went to another deity. The household god found itself unceremoniously dumped on the nature strip.
The next day, a hard rubbish scavenger happened upon a perfect garden gnome. It was odd: when he picked it up, he felt calm; enraptured. He paused and turned as he tucked it under his arm, sure that he heard a disembodied contented sigh.
Consider this a friendly, local pub. Make yourself at home, bring your friends, have a good time! Meet new people, have a laugh, enjoy the ambience, and the Oxford commas.