I liked the old fisherman from the beginning.  He sits comfortably on a body-contoured stump, exuding patience and serenity, lightly holding his fishing pole.  His jug is alongside (maybe for fish storage, maybe for refreshment). He wears leather strapped sandals, a broad sun hat, and a flowing green and blue robe.  His white beard and hair suggest the wisdom of age. He is contemplative, certainly in no hurry.  He may be surprised that his serenity has been interrupted by the arrival of the fish. 
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The downside of a house of mementoes is that it is hard to throw anything out.  I think the oldest thing I  have is something that eluded getting thrown out by several generations, but I don’t really know its story.  This is all I know.
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