JACKSON - Jackson resident Bonnie Brown Koeln died on (day, date) in (wherever) of (whatever).

So begins the obituary of Bonnie Brown Koeln.

But Koeln isn't dead yet. In fact, the 69-year-old is thriving, recently returned from Australia and New Zealand, where she rode zip lines over rain forests and went paragliding. She is staying in shape for her next adventure, a trekking trip in Bhutan, Nepal and Tibet in December.

She is very much alive and very organized.

Koeln's immediate family is dead. Her dad died of heart problems when he was 56 years old. Her mother and brother died when each was 60, both of cancer.

And her husband Richard, the former exuberant maitre d' at Anthony's Italian Restaurant, died in 1993 of pancreatic cancer. He was 50 years old.

The couple never had children. They never wanted any. Suddenly Koeln was all alone.

She worried, when she died, who would be left to remember her?

The first year after Richard died was the hardest. There was the first Christmas, Valentine's Day, birthdays and other markers of time she had taken for granted. She faced her own demons to pull through.

Things change. Anthony's, where her husband worked, is now closed. Koeln has developed a love of travel. And now, being alone is a choice. She doesn't mind going to parties, movies or traveling by herself.

But some things will never change. Koeln is still meticulous, always striving for order as she always has. And she will never forget her husband, or let his name pass quietly from town.

Koeln set up memorials throughout town to her husband a paving stone at St. John's Medical Center, a square painted at the Senior Center of Jackson Hole, a brick at the National Museum of Wildlife Art.

The memorials bear Richard's name and also hers. But when she thinks about her death, she worries about her legacy.

"Nobody knows," she said.

No one knows her complete story: Koeln the child growing up in Pennsylvania, the student, clerk, wife, traveler and photographer.

One day she just sat down and wrote. Just the facts and figures, she said and a few things she things is most proud of her work with the Democratic party, the Best in Show and the Best in Division blue ribbons she won at the 2004 Teton County Fair.

She wrote about attending Dickinson College in Carlisle, Penn., where she met her Richard they were both in the theater department. She wrote of when she came to Jackson. It was 1977. She and Richard were living in New York City. He was a struggling actor; she worked at an advertising agency. Their lives were too busy.

"We would literally pass each other in the hallway," she said. "It was no way to have a marriage."

The couple cashed in the $10,000 Richard won on a game show, pulled out their savings, bought a car and started driving in search of their new home. Within two hours of arriving in Jackson, they knew they would stay.

She wrote about serving as the clerk in the lower court for 22 years until she retired in January 2003 news that made the front page of the newspaper and about how she has been traveling ever since, to China, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam. She visited friends in Scotland whom she met in Russia.

"One friend calls me the poster child for a great retirement I like that," she said.

It is a sentiment she wants her obituary to reflect. She wants that last article to inspire others with tales of feats like zip lining and paragliding.

Atop the obituary are the deadlines needed for submitting it to the newspaper. She has picked the photograph she wants to run with text, a picture taken at a wedding two years ago.

All her life she has been teased about being so organized.

"I'm an office worker, and I'm good at it," she said.

As needed, she plans to update the obituary, adding to it once she goes sky diving on her 75th birthday or if she attends her college reunion in 2012.

She can't schedule her death, but she can plan for it.

"I really don't want someone else to think about it," she said. "It's my life."

And her death. And every last detail is planned.

When she dies, Koeln's ashes will be mingled with what remains of her husband's. She has sprinkled them on every adventure she has taken, spreading him throughout the world.

His remaining ashes and hers will be sprinkled in the mountains near Jackson.

Koeln's biggest fear is getting sick, unable to care for herself, but being kept alive, a burden on her friends.

On her computer is an icon labeled "For Cindy," a friend who has agreed to take care of things once Koeln dies, a friend who knows all of Koeln's last wishes.

Koeln relishes rewriting her will every year, adding new people or items and removing those who have died. She likes to think of the reaction of those when they learn they will get a piece of her artwork or jewelry.

"Frankly, I'll be remembered for it," she said.

But that wasn't enough. Once, Koeln sent a birthday card to an old friend, only to have it returned. She learned later the woman died.

"When I die, how are people going to know?" Koeln said.

So in her address book she has 100 Forever stamps and marked the names of her friends around the world, from high school, college, work and her travels, who will be sent a copy of her obituary.

The same one she has already written.