An item I read years ago in Readers Digest concerned the pin-dot community of Costilla, on the New Mexico-Colorado border. Apparently, in the olden days, maps weren’t as precise as they are today, as we lacked satellites. There was a perennial discussion as to which state Costilla belonged to: New Mexico or Colorado?

There were hearings, the resurrection of long-dormant deeds, testimonials and threats of lawsuits — until a court determined that Costilla did indeed belong to New Mexico. One long-time resident of the community was heard to exclaim, “Thank goodness! I couldn’t have spent another winter in Colorado.”

Whether fact or legend, the Digest item made an excellent point. And I hadn’t thought of that little town in years. If I had, I’d have thought of it merely as a place one drives through to get to Colorado from Taos. In Monday’s email was a note from a woman named Patricia Craineu, who was born in Costilla, moved to Barstow, Calif., and more recently relocated to Las Vegas.

She responded to the Tradiciones magazine, bundled with Friday’s weekend Optic edition, which explored ways people thought of “Oremos,” what used to be a Christmas tradition here. Kids would rise early Christmas day to visit neighborhood homes in search of yuletide treats. And their chant carried a subtle threat of vandalism to the house if the owners failed to contribute to the visitors’ stash.

Three people with roots in northern New Mexico — Erminio Martinez, Julia Tafoya McNeal and Myles Sweeney — gave recollections of Christmases past. Unlike our faded tradition of letting the mini-mendicants loose to do their version of trick-or-treat, Craineu provides a different — and elaborate — version by adding that in Costilla and neighboring Amalia, “Oremos” involved guitars, accordions and violins.

Craineu adds that “This is still a tradition up at Costilla and Amalia that is very much alive by my brother-in-law and his family.” Another point of departure, Craineu says, is that the visitation take place a week later, as a New Year’s observance.

According to Craineu, “People go out singing at the houses and you make up your own verses to sing at each house.” The event, Craineu wrote, may have lasted a 24 hours, starting on New Year’s Eve and ending well into the next evening.

• • •

“WisePies Arena.” Is that the best they can do? Are they serious about re-naming the University of New Mexico’s “Pit”?

Apparently a pizza franchise offered $5 million for the honor of placing that name in and around the UNM Lobos’ basketball stadium. The deal, covered on Albuquerque TV, shows “WisePies” as one word, with an ‘40s-style hat through which peers an eye.

As art, I believe it gets an A, but people on the street, interviewed by reporters hesitate to give it a thumbs up. Instead, most indicate they were happy with The Pit. But did The Pit ever attain official status? Could it have been named mainly because of the mammoth hole builders dug to accommodate the large gymnasium?

Even in our own Las Vegas, there might be buildings and other facilities whose name simply emerged, without a governing board giving them an imprimatur. And complicating that issue is whether officially named structures and facilities lose their identify upon being razed.

Upon demolition, Mortimer Hall, for example, ceased to be, to make room for the new Student Center; Ford Hall, which began as a men’s dormitory and morphed into faculty offices, bit the dust when a parking lot replaced it.

As for the WisePies name: Isn’t that close to what one gets called before being knocked off? Somehow, following the airing of the WisePies action, I felt an urge to re-watch the “Godfather” trilogy on my DVD.